


Hurricane

by phrynne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Partners, BDSM, Begging, Blow Jobs, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Consensual Sex, Consent is Sexy, Deepthroating, Denial, Denial of Feelings, Depression, Dom/sub Undertones, Drinking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, Falling In Love, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Angst, Gay Sex, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Legilimency, M/M, Marking, Mind Sex, Mutual Pining, Not Epilogue Compliant, Occlumency, Orgasm Delay, Pining, Polyamory, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Praise Kink, Rimming, Romance, Scars, Scratching, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Smut, Stinging Jinx (creative use), Stripping, Suicide Attempt, Switching, Temperature Play, Voyeurism, erotic asphyxiation, pansexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2018-10-06 17:38:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 121,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10340760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phrynne/pseuds/phrynne
Summary: Eleven years after the War, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are both still haunted, working themselves to death on the job. But nothing is killing them more than seven years denying their mutual, unrelenting and painful attraction.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Epoxide (MiyuTanemura)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiyuTanemura/gifts).



> I don't own any of the characters, just borrowing them from J. K. Rowling who owns copyright.
> 
> The title of this fic is from 30 Seconds to Mars' song Hurricane 2.0. The whole fic is inspired by this song. 
> 
> I wrote this fic to the sound of a Drarry playlist compiled by me. You can listen to it here: https://open.spotify.com/user/1175318539/playlist/2q1ZlVHkke52CFxHZBMFfn
> 
> Thank you to my beta Epoxide (MiyuTanemura) who was the best commenting, editing and encouraging me to go on!

_"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us."_

**\- Marianne Williamson**  
  
_“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.”_

**\- Rumi**  
**  
  
** Eleven years after the War and the nightmares still hadn’t left him.

Harry woke up to an empty bedroom, a scream from another time still echoing in his ears. He felt chilled to the bone. As usual his hands shot straight for the bedside table, searching for his glasses. He put them on in the total darkness. It was pointless of course, but it was a habit that came to him naturally. The glasses were like a part of his body, even more so than his wand. Still,  he looked under his pillow and gripped the wand in his hand. He waited for his heart to still its beating and breathed slowly several times. Whispering _Lumos_ , he checked the time on his wristwatch on the table. 3 am. _Crap._ He threw the blankets away with a resigned sigh. He would not go back to sleep that night.

That he always slept with his wand under his pillow was something that had worried Hermione for a long time, but she gave up trying to discuss the issue with him after a few heated arguments. Harry wouldn’t hear of it, or any of the therapy bullshit - “You’re probably suffering from PTSD. It would be good for you to have someone to talk to and help you. I went to a few sessions myself,” she’d said. She had made Ron go too. _Good for them_ , he thought harshly. They were moving on with their lives, he wasn’t. She was right, of course. Harry still wasn’t able to have a good night’s sleep, even after all this time. He also knew that that was just the beginning of his problems. He knew how fucked up he was, he just wasn’t ready to have someone else telling him that yet.

Not for the first time when he woke alone, he wondered why he’d turn down the nice bloke from the club that night. Ted was his name, or Greg. Or Guy, really. He was straining to remember, but gave up. The week before it had been a very hot woman named Gina. At least he thought that was her name. They’d shagged and it was nice. Two nights ago a blond man, tall, slender. He had a nice arse. They did not exchange names. Harry never spent the night or invited them over to his place. Over the time he had started going for the blond handsome tall type. He only noticed the pattern when Hermione flatly pointed that out to him. Ron agreed, both eyebrows raised at him in a blunt question. He then refused to discuss this with them. Hermione, in particular, was way too perceptive for him to be able to maintain his denial. And he quite needed his denial.

He did remember the bloke from this night, or better his mouth on his neck, his hands travelling south and now he was thinking that it really was a pity. _But he was not blond, Hermione_ , he thought stubbornly. _Well at least I don’t remember that he was, and if I’m that obsessed with blondes I would remember, wouldn’t I?_ He stopped addressing the Hermione in his head and stood up.

The man had his hands down his pants when Harry had made some lame excuse and came back alone to Number 12, Grimmauld Place. He could be making the most of his awake time right now. Instead he was staring at the fridge and taking out a cold beer.

It was like everything had happened just yesterday. The scar on his forehead had never hurt again, but he had found out that some of the deepest scars were unseen to the eye. And for all the magic in the world, he didn’t know any spell that could mend those.

***

3 am and Draco knew that it would be useless to go back to his flat. He knew what he had to look forward: another night of damned insomnia. It was the third in a row. The week before he was able to sleep a couple of nights - he was working on a difficult case that required all those extra hours - and he regarded that as a great accomplishment. Sleeping potions had stopped working on him a long time ago, so usually being out to two or three pubs and clubs until 6 am did the trick. He got home and slept three hours and then got up and got to work. If he was tired enough he would even sleep three hours straight, no nightmares, and that was something.

So tonight it was still early. Draco looked up from his drink to the man across the room, that had been checking him out for some time now. He wasn’t particularly interested but he had some time to kill. He smiled. The man smiled back and came over, offered a drink, Draco said yes, and a minute later the man was brushing his lips against Draco’s neck, hands on his arse.

Draco sipped from his glass, still lost in thought. The man was working his neck with kisses and bites and his hands were going down on Draco. He just let him. That was part of the deal, after all. He would let some bloke blow him off until he forgot. Every week or every other day a different one. He didn’t know their names, even, but he couldn’t care less. It was agreed beforehand that those where only one night stands. They would come and go, or Draco would come and go, and he had only one rule: he never spent the night.

It was hard to believe that eleven years had passed. Harder still when the Dark Mark on his left arm was still there. Now it was more of a scar, but there it was, relentless. Looking at it still made him sick. He avoided it as much as it was possible, always wearing long sleeves, even in the heat of Summer.

After the War he had searched in vain for a way to magically remove it. He found out fast enough that such a mark, cast by powerful Dark Magic, could never be removed. Nevertheless, he tried every removal spell he knew and searched for others that he didn’t - nothing worked. The serpent and skull were etched on his skin, stark bright white. He remembered vividly the night he’d looked at his arm and had been so repulsed by it that he tore at it with his nails until his skin broke. The sight of blood made him sick to his stomach, but instead of stopping he’d searched frantically for something sharp. Blaise found him sometime later lying on the bathroom floor, at Hogwarts, his arm bleeding from the several cuts across his skin and his eyes drained from all the crying. At that moment he finally learned something important: some wounds would never heal.

The man from the club was taking him to a back room and leaning against him, hands all over. Draco barely even felt them.

‘You’re hot,’ he was saying.

Draco did not bother to answer. He pushed the man down on his knees, and the other happily obliged.

Later that night when Draco arrived at his flat and finally laid down to sleep a couple of hours, he noticed he didn’t even remember the bloke’s name. Was it Terry? Jed? Maybe… Guy? _Who cares._ He didn’t even remember the blow job.

But right before he passed out from sheer exhaustion he remembered something: his hair was jet-black and messy and he had gripped at it hard while he came into his mouth.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_"No matter how many times that you told me_  
_You wanted to leave_ _”_  
**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds to Mars**

  
Potter had grown a beard. That was the first thing he noticed that day. It was trimmed in a way that accentuated his features and played well with the dark green Auror robes he was wearing. He also had changed his trademark glasses for a modern version of the other pair. Only his unruly black hair was the same. And his eyes, Draco noticed. The green eyes that were staring at him from across the room were also the same. He decided to let the jet lag take responsibility for this weird train of thought. It would be 6 am in New York by now - the time he usually got to bed. He did not try to assess the effects of sleep deprivation on his current predicament.

The second thing he noticed was: _I should have known_. It was so obvious now that he could have laughed if he wasn’t so annoyed at himself.

He had finished the three years of Auror training in New York and was now an Auror for the Magical Congress of the United States, better known as MACUSA. Instead of being assigned a partner and an office there, as he was expecting, they’d called him with a proposal: to go back to Britain, where he would be paired with a skilled Auror and form an international elite team to work between the UK and the US. The team would be operating from London, but travelling wherever high profile cases came up. The meeting at the Auror Headquarters in London had already been arranged and an international Portkey prepared for him. They’d refused to tell him more, on the grounds that it was confidential and told him he’d only get the full scope of it at the meeting, but that he shouldn’t worry, this was one big career opportunity and if he accepted he’d be working with the best Auror from the training program in London. He didn’t know how he could have been so blind, really. Who else would be the best, if not _Harry fucking Potter_ , The Saviour, The Chosen.

Third thing he noticed: Potter looked as unsettled to see him as he was. At least they were agreeing on something.

Oblivious to all this, Gawain Robards, the Head of the Auror Office, was looking at them both, a confident smile on his face. Draco thought the smile was premature at best. Utterly inadequate, at worst.

‘Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter, so glad that you’re both here,’ he was gesturing towards the chairs placed in front of his desk. Neither of them appeared to have any intention of sitting down. Potter was so still that he almost looked like a probably-soon-to-be real-life statue of himself. Draco badly needed a smoke. As old habits died hard, they were standing tensely well away from each other, but this time it didn’t feel like animosity: they were both guarded, expecting, watchful of each other's movements.

Robards was clearing his throat, apparently recognizing for the first time the difficulty of the task ahead. A slight crease was forming on his forehead.

‘Now, gentlemen, if you’ll please have a seat. We can begin discussing the job in detail.’

Prompt in that way, they both sat. Potter fidgeted on his chair, and stared at his hands like they’d suddenly sparked his interest. Draco knew his own face showed nothing. Robards started to make an introductory speech about the new Auror Department’s standards, and the type of work he expected them to do.

Draco wasn’t really listening. The minute he’d seen Potter he knew that there was only one way this meeting would end. With him going back to New York.

He wondered for the tenth time that day what he was doing there. Why was he back to England? He’d done everything to leave, he wanted nothing more than to be away, so why did he agree to come to this meeting? He should have said that he wasn’t interested, suggested another one of his training partners for the job and be done with it. He could still do exactly that now, but why bother? Potter would never agree to this. There was no way in hell the Boy Who Lived would work with an ex-Death-Eater - especially this one in particular.

He did not want to be back, but it was an ironic twist of fate that he’d been immediately faced with one of the people he least wanted to see again. Potter reminded him of too many things that he’d tried to keep shut for the last four years.

Inevitably, Draco was back at the time of the trials, just after the War. The Wizengamot had wasted no time in scheduling the Malfoys’ trial. Potter’s word had been paramount to change the verdict. Potter stated that Draco Malfoy refused to identify him to Bellatrix Lestrange that night at Malfoy Manor. Furthermore, Narcissa Malfoy had lied to Voldemort, thus saving Potter’s life, and both these accounts made a difference. Lucius Malfoy narrowly escaped an Azkaban sentence. In the end, they were pardoned and fined with an astronomical amount. Lucius Malfoy was suddenly invested in paying for every War reparation, putting his money behind every charity or cause. The Malfoy money paid for the reconstruction of Hogwarts and financed several St. Mungos’ research projects on diseases caused by the Dark Arts and Draco knew that it probably would finance everything that would remotely help to clean their name.

After he was cleared of all charges, Draco decided he wanted to finish his education at Hogwarts. Most survivors of the War had decided the same: to go back, stay another year and finish their studies. Neither Lucius nor Narcissa agreed with his decision, but he went anyway. Something in him had broken, a link to them, something. The War had changed everything he thought he knew, everything his family stood for. One day, feeling numb, he simply told them that. The sadness on his mother’s face still hurt, but when Lucius slapped him, enraged, he felt nothing. The family ring on Lucius’s hand cut his lip and as he felt the pang of blood there, he knew he had finally arrived at the destination Lucius Malfoy had always wanted for him: cold-blooded indifference. He decided that day that no matter what he did, he would never be back at Malfoy Manor.

At Hogwarts, he kept to himself, avoiding Potter as much as it was possible, and also Granger and Weasley. Everyone, really. Most of the students seemed relieved by his attitude. That way they did not have to pretend to have any interest in talking to him. Nor did he. He was studying hard, making up for his wasted sixth and seventh years there. Blaise was one of the few people that still talked to him. But then someone else was there.

He could not for the life of him understand why Luna Lovegood, of all people, enjoyed his company, but she’d usually find him by the lake reading and she’d sit there quietly studying. After a long time it almost felt normal for her to be there, and Draco found himself listening to her theories about Nargles and the Rotfang Conspiracy - something about Aurors working to bring down the Ministry of Magic from within using a combination of Dark Magic and gum disease. It was a weird sort of friendship, they sure didn’t have that much in common, and those theories clearly lacked logical support, but Luna was so easy to get along with and he… he didn’t know who he was anymore. He did not exactly understand Luna’s world, but he found out that some unknown part of him liked to believe that such a world was possible.

It was during that time that he, against all odds, decided to take in Auror training. He had to get away from England. When his N.E.W.T. scores came out, five Outstandings and one Exceeds Expectations, he applied for the MACUSA training and was accepted. He remembered writing to his mother informing her of his decision, the night before he left for New York. He did not leave a reply address.

In New York, Auror training became his life. That was why he was the best of that year. He felt like he didn’t have anything else to lose, and nothing else to look forward.  

Luna wrote to him every other week, so for the three years of his training she was always there. She kept him informed as the years went by, so he’d know things about people he’d known in Hogwarts, and of course he was thoroughly informed about Nargles in the US. Meanwhile, Luna had thought better of her Auror conspiracy theory and had moved on to another one about a rare sort of tree in Norway that attracted more Nargles than mistletoe.

That was also how he’d learn random new information about The Chosen One and his friends. Like Potter and the Weasley girl not being together anymore, which was weird because he always thought they’d be married freshly out of Hogwarts. Actually now Luna was dating Ginevra Weasley and Longbottom, and they also dated each other, all of this at the same time. They all agreed on this, it was all out in the open and honest. Luna told him it was called polyamory in the Muggle world. Due to his upbringing, of course Draco had never known much about Muggles, nor had he wanted to. He checked for the word in a Muggle dictionary just to make sure it actually existed, unlike, say, Nargles, and it did. Only Weasley and Granger seemed to be behaving as they were before, living together and planning a private commitment ceremony (Granger had apparently refused Weasley’s marriage proposal on the grounds that she would only marry when everyone had the same right to do it as she did - and that included elves as well as people with every possible sexual orientation). It was weird that he knew all these kinds of things about people he used to despise or hate. He didn't know what to do with it now.

He also did not know what to do with the things he randomly knew through Luna about Potter, like how he’d moved to Grimmauld Place, the house where Draco’s own mother had grown up in. Or how Potter was obsessed with his Auror training - being first at every training session in the morning, and last to leave at night - something Draco could actually relate to. He had continued to play Quidditch as a hobby and was invited to every Ministry function ever given. Of course he was the cover of some journal or magazine every other week. Draco subscribed to every british wizarding publication because he liked to be kept informed, or maybe because no matter how much he tried he still missed Britain.

It was a measure of how much he actually missed it that he’d also subscribed to Witch Weekly. He liked the recipe section. It was no surprise when Potter made the cover there too... almost naked. There he was, sporting only a tight piece of underwear, his body fit from Auror training and Quidditch playing, his arms behind his head in a sort of teasing position, his intensely green eyes staring, moving up slowly to look at Draco, and his lips stretching over and over into a half-teasing, half-shy smile, his unruly mass of black hair completing the picture with the just-shagged look the magazine editor was probably aiming for. Over the cover, the promising headline shone brightly like neon: “Potter Uncovered: The Chosen One hides nothing, and Merlin, we’re impressed!”. For some reason, Draco had had some trouble erasing this picture from his head. And he’d more willingly take a curse than admit to anyone that he’d read the interview on pages 34-40.

He forced that weird train of thought to a halt. Sleep and smoking deprivation were taking their toll on him, clearly. Draco became aware that Potter’s eyes were trained on him. How long had they been there? Not knowing the answer to this was making him uncomfortable.

Robards’ voice stopped being a background noise and his words came slowly to Draco.

‘Now gentlemen. You are both the best. We believe -’

‘Sorry, Sir, but who’s _we_?’ Potter spoke for the first time. He was now looking at Robards like he’d never done anything else during the meeting. Predictably, he did not sound amused.

‘Us and the MACUSA, Mr. Potter. We have the best confidence in you. As you know, Mr. Malfoy has a clean record, so those issues are past us. He comes highly recommended and I would be hard pressed to ignore a MACUSA recommendation. We need you both on board for this international team. Besides, the Department of International Magical Cooperation is very invested on this going forward, as it will allow for a reinforcement of the cooperation between our two countries, but even more than that. You will be handed cases from all over the world, working close with Auror teams overseas...’

Robards voice was again fading into the background. _Coming back was a terrible mistake_ , Draco thought again. He had been assigned this important job, but he would not be able to go for it. It would be the perfect job for him to bury himself into - and disappear. If it wasn’t for that minor detail: Potter. Because he could not work with Potter.

Draco Malfoy had a problem he could not solve.

The only thing in his life that still made sense was the person he had hated for most of his life. For years the world he lived in had steadied around two points, like two lines holding it in place. There was Voldemort. And there was Harry Potter. Voldemort was gone and with him everything that Draco had been brought up to believe. His world had violently shifted in its axis and when it stopped it was wrapped around the only other thing it could find: Harry Potter. Draco had come crashing down with that world and in the end only one thing stood and it was the man who lived and died for them, and then lived again.

The same man who was now staring at him.


	3. Chapter 3

_“No matter how many deaths I die_  
_I will never forget_ ”  
 **Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds to Mars**

The man who lived was staring at Draco Malfoy like he’d never seen him in his life. Perhaps it was the fact that they hadn’t seen each other for three years now. Perhaps it was that Malfoy was indeed _different_.

On the surface, he looked just the same. He was wearing perfectly tailored dark MACUSA robes, that made him look even taller than he was. He was sitting with his back straight, long legs crossed, grey eyes unreadable and his demeanour distant. He looked just like the Malfoy from that last year in Hogwarts - guarded, collected, serious, no trace of a smirk on his face. But there was something underneath that and Harry could feel it, _there_ , closely under the surface. As to what _it_ was, he could not pin it down.

Another part of him was still mad at himself. How in the world did he not know that this Auror they’d want him to work with was Malfoy? He actually had all the information to get to that conclusion and it did not bode well for his Auror skills that only now every piece of the puzzle in his possession was setting itself in place.

Harry was clearly remembering his previous conversation with Robards, who first presented him with the proposal to work with another Auror, forming an international elite team. He always thought he and Ron would work together as a team after they’d finished training, but Robards had other plans for them. Ron was assigned to a team that would be working locally. Harry, on the other hand, was to be paired with this MACUSA Auror and they would be assigned the biggest, most dangerous cases; tracking down Dark Wizards all over the world. It sounded promising even if he didn’t know who he’d be working with.

‘This Auror’s spellwork has been one of the best they've seen at the MACUSA training program. He’s particularly good with identifying dark artifacts and also with the art of potion making,’ that was what he knew from Robards.

He’d known bits of information about Malfoy through the years, not that he was intentionally prying for information but because Luna had maintained contact with Malfoy. She would usually provide him with random information on Malfoy’s life, like she thought he’d be really interested. He never told her off.

So he knew Malfoy was living in New York, that weirdly enough he’d chose to go into Auror training, that he’d bought an expensive loft there, that he liked to play Quidditch in his free time, that he had started collecting very ancient and expensive books on Alchemy and had developed a taste for cooking refined dishes. He had quite a difficulty in making some of these descriptions match the spoiled, privileged prick he knew. But this was also the reason why he knew Malfoy was very focused on his training and that he’d sure finish top of his training year. That, coupled with Robards’ description and his reluctance in getting into more details about this Auror should have been enough.

He was trying to focus on what Robards was saying but his brain wasn’t helping much. He had not slept that night and through the haze of sleep deprivation he suddenly remembered why. He had a nightmare... with _Malfoy_. There was fire all around them and Malfoy was screaming. Harry did not remember it well now, but he’d woken covered in cold sweat, his heart beating fast and he wasn’t able to get to sleep again. And now Malfoy was sitting on a chair, merely a foot from him.

The last time he had seen him was engraved on his mind ever since.

_It was the last day at Hogwarts. Harry had already packed all of his stuff, for the last time. It seemed impossible that this was actually goodbye. Goodbye to his home. He was outside with Hermione, Ron, Neville, Ginny and Luna. They were enjoying the last rays of sun from that day, the first ones of the Summer to come. He was sitting near the lake, his back against a tree. Hermione was sitting with Ron’s head on her lap, and he was laughing at some joke from Ginny. She had been teasing Neville because he was going to be a Professor at Hogwarts and that meant that she would soon be dating a teacher. Luna had her arms wrapped around Neville and they both laughed. It was still so weird that so many of his friends were there, alive and laughing, only a year after it all happened. He could not forget the ones that were gone, but when faced with this happiness he felt himself going out of breath, like he couldn’t deal. He looked away, lifting his eyes to look at the castle, to maybe say one silent last goodbye, and saw Malfoy coming up to them._

_Malfoy had avoided them all year, except for Luna. Maybe that was why he was there, to say goodbye to her. But Malfoy stopped right in front of him. Harry lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the sun, but still could not see Malfoy’s expression when the other spoke._

_‘Can I talk to you?’_

_He was so surprised he didn’t answer._

_‘If you don't want to, I understand, and I'll leave. But I have no other way of knowing if I don't ask you.’_

_Malfoy did not sound like himself. His voice was straining against something. Harry got up. Malfoy was looking beyond him, not at him. Still, the question was unequivocally for him._

_‘I, er, yes,’ he answered._

_The others were looking at them. Luna was smiling encouragingly._

_‘I’ll be right back,’ he said back to them._

_Malfoy pointed towards the lake, Harry nodded, and they both walked silently that way, more like two people headed to the same place, but not walking there together. They were now well away from the group. Malfoy was silent for a long time, staring intently at the lake. Harry felt like he needed to say something, just to make that awkward silence go away. But what could he possibly say? He had never been silent around Malfoy, nor the other way around, they’d always throw some insults at each other. He fought the urge to break that silence. The sun was almost touching the lake’s surface and Harry watched as the light cast reflections around them, spreading through Malfoy’s still figure. He seemed to be fighting something out of himself._

_‘I’m leaving tomorrow to the US. We’ll probably never see each other again, as I’m not coming back. I can’t leave without telling you something.’_

_Harry did not know what he was expecting but it certainly wasn't this sudden disclosure.  Malfoy had not said a word to him all year, except when forced to interact in classes. Even at the trials, where Harry had spoken for the Malfoys, he had never said a word, not even to acknowledge Harry’s presence. He was still looking intently at the lake, like it could give him some sort of courage. The sun continued its way down, as the silence stretched before them. Malfoy finally forced himself to look up. Harry was so suddenly reminded of that one time he’d seen Malfoy cry desperately, that he flinched. Because those eyes were the same now. Dark grey, fighting some nameless silent battle._

_‘I am sorry for everything I did to you. I am sorry for the years of bullying, of aggression. I regret everything I put you through, and also them’, he nodded towards the group. ‘I regret it, but regretting it will not make it go away.’_

_Harry could not speak. His mouth felt like parchment. He was unable to tear his eyes off the grey ones as he fought to find some words. Any words. Coming up short to nothing, he just kept silent. Malfoy looked away, and spoke again, his voice close to a whisper._

_‘Thanks for saving my life,’ he said._  
  
_Harry felt like he’d been stunned. Was he talking about the fire in the Room of Requirement or about the trials and Azkaban? Or both? Did it matter? His brain was racing to find some sort of reply, but all he could take in were those grey eyes, a moment ago, filled with… Was that regret? Gratitude?_ Was this really happening?

 _‘Thanks for getting us rid of_ him _. Goodbye, Potter.’_

_Malfoy turned slowly from Harry and walked away. He never looked back. Harry did not know how much time he stood there, alone by the lake, watching the tall lone figure disappear towards the castle._

_‘Goodbye, Malfoy.’_

_He realized, then, that Malfoy had left without any sort of reply on his part._

_He had gone back to the group and was surprised to find that he didn’t need to explain what just happened. Apparently Malfoy had approached each one of them before and apologized for everything he’d done… Hermione told him that Malfoy blamed himself for her torture at Malfoy Manor and that he told her he wished he would have been able to stop it. She had looked at Harry, her eyes showing pain at the memory of it. That had been the day Malfoy had refused to identify Harry to Bellatrix. He still didn’t know why Malfoy had done that. Remembering that day at the Manor was never easy on any of them. Harry did not know what to say or think. Clearly, Malfoy had decided to leave him for last on his apologies list. What that meant - if it meant anything at all - he also didn’t know._

Harry was brought to the present moment by Malfoy calling his name, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

‘Potter, are you listening?’

Harry blinked. The grey eyes were staring at him, in stark contrast to the ones he was remembering from that last goodbye. These were cold, collected. His face must have answered the question because Malfoy quickly went on.

‘I was telling Mr. Robards that you’ll surely agree that this job is impossible, _we_ can't possibly work togeth-’

Harry spoke before he even thought it.

‘Actually, I _don't_ agree. I’ll do it.’

Malfoy’s mouth dropped open, then rapidly closed itself on a very thin line. His grey eyes still showed nothing.

‘Perfect!’ Robards seemed intensely relieved. ‘Now, Mr. Malfoy, you-’

But Malfoy wasn’t looking at him and cut through whatever Robards was going to say, his eyes darting to Harry’s.

 _‘What the hell are you playing at_?’ he hissed. Only his voice showed any sign of emotion. He still leaned into his chair in a relaxed posture.

Harry did not address this question and turned to Robards, his jaw set on the sudden decision. And as with all his sudden decisions, he would follow through with it until proven wrong.

‘You said it so yourself, Mr. Robards. He _is_ the best from the MACUSA program. If you think this will work I'm going to do it. I'm in.’

Malfoy’s voice was heard clearly in the room, a thin drawl behind it.

‘Potter, this is _me_ standing right here. Are you out of your mind? You _do_ realize this is Auror work we’re talking about, you’ll be risking your life on the job and working together with _me_?’ the last word was uttered in a tone of disbelief.

Harry finally turned to look at him. Malfoy was waiting for his answer, only a slight hint of annoyance on his face, his eyes cold as steel. He had made quite a good point, though. Maybe Harry _was_ crazy. But he _did_ have a very good reason for making this decision. He smiled.

‘I'm all in,’ he looked straight at Malfoy, the old challenge between them setting on his eyes and tone. ‘So. Are you _up to it_ or not?’

If Malfoy’s eyes could, they would have burned him on the spot. At least now they were showing some kind of emotion. His jaw was clenched when he answered the challenge.

‘Yes,’ that was all he said and clearly it was more than enough for Robards who was now positively grinning at them.

‘Great, gentlemen! So pleased we came to an agreement. You will be asked to travel often, to anywhere in the world, on short notice. As you know, Headquarters will be here, you will be given your own office in the Auror Department. So, moving on to the bureaucracy, if you’ll just sign here…’ he showed them two separate work contracts, sitting on his desk. They both read in silence and signed. Malfoy’s gestures were stiff, quite in contrast with his demeanor in the course of the meeting. ‘You will be starting at 8 am on Monday, so I suggest you get a good night’s sleep and get your other affairs in order…’

Harry could not suppress a short sudden laugh at that and noticed Malfoy staring at him, scowling, his lips pursed.

Getting some sleep would probably be the first impossible mission Robards had given him. The second would be surviving the first week working with Draco Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think? From this point on some of Draco's retorts will be inspired by the character Brian Kinney on Queer as Folk. Those who know him might have recognized the line: "Are you listening?". This Draco will have some of Brian Kinney's humour now and then, hope you enjoy it. As for Harry... well, he keeps making up his mind real quick, and as we know *that* might get him into some trouble... Keep up with me because these guys will soon be deep into feelings and stuff - and by stuff I mean smut. ;)


	4. Chapter 4

****_“You say you wrong, you wrong, I'm right_  
_I'm right, you wrong, we fight"_  
**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds to Mars**

  
They did survive that first week. And the ones after. They’d been working together for seven years now.

But then came one morning, and Harry was thinking that what they’d not be surviving was the amount of desk work waiting for them at the office.

They had so much paperwork after three missions abroad that the neglected files where pilling everywhere in their office - and not just on the desks even. Harry looked at his chair covered in files, and spotted some more lying on a pile next to Malfoy’s desk. With a wave of his hand he straightened some files that were on the verge of collapsing to the floor and sighed.

They had arrived back to London just a few hours before, by International Portkey and they had both Apparated to the office, not even bothering with a change of clothes. Fortunately, they had a special permission to Apparate and Disapparate inside the Ministry which really facilitated their constant travellings on very short notice.

Harry felt like someone had just told him Christmas was cancelled, which probably would be for him anyways if they kept up at that rate, solving one case after another not even having the time to make the reports.

‘This sucks,’ he said.

‘And not in a positive, life-affirming way,’ Malfoy agreed with a slight smirk.

The sudden joke made Harry throw his head back, laughing. Now that they weren’t trying to kill each other, he was starting to think that Malfoy was kind of a _fun_ person. In his _very_ particular, arrogant, annoying prick sort of way, of course.

Malfoy was arching an eyebrow at him - he usually did that whenever Harry laughed about something. Harry swallowed the rest of his laugh.

‘What? That was funny.’

‘Glad I can be of service,’ said Malfoy with a sneer. But he appeared to be slightly amused. He moved towards his desk and rearranged the paperwork neatly in piles with a wave of his hand. ‘Now can we get to work? I'd like to be out of here _before_ the next Wizarding War starts.’

‘Don’t worry, Malfoy. If it comes to that I'll be there to save your ass,’ Harry threw back, walking to his desk.

‘Lucky me. _Do_ make sure to wear that nice green underwear when you do. I’m sure Witch Weekly’s reporters would devote an entire issue to it, their Saviour doing the saving in tight underwear.’

Harry was lifting the pile of files from his chair and almost dropped them to the floor. He froze on the spot. Malfoy had an ironic smile on his face. That smile arched even more at that.

‘You-’ he felt his face turn red. ‘You _saw_ that? That was fucking years ago!’

That was it. He was going to make good on his promise to kill Ginny when she came back to England. The Holyhead Harpies could start searching for a new Chaser right about now, because that one was done for. It was her fault that he'd made that cover. She had pressed him for ages, owling him, showing up unexpected at his home, even flooing him at Auror Headquarters and there was even that one time when she’d all but travelled by International Portkey in the middle of Quidditch season just to _please, please_ , ask him again. The editor of Witch Weekly was one of her lovers at the time and Harry had given in by sheer exhaustion.

Of course he regretted it during the three-hour-intense-photoshoot plus an excruciatingly painful interview that made Rita Skeeter look like an amateur in comparison.

And he regretted it even more on the day the issue was out. He hid at Grimmauld Place for a whole week, leaving at dawn for Auror training and asking for a special permission to floo directly to and from the Ministry. It was the only time in his life that he was glad his name meant something because he was allowed to do it, thus escaping the fans that were lining up outside the Ministry, waiting for a chance to see him. He was never so grateful that his home address was still a secret and he meant to keep it that way for as long as he lived there. Ron laughed at this for almost two months, the same amount of time it took for the reporters to stop following him around afterwards with all kinds of questions about his sex life. Hermione stopped him hexing one reporter who had followed them to a club one night, trying to discover who Harry was seeing at the time. And he was not even going to think about the fan mail. He burned every letter, without reading so much as a word. Ron was very upset at this, he had planned a night with the whole group at the pub to read those aloud.

And now Malfoy, of all people, had seen it. _I'm going to kill you, Ginny._ Malfoy was still looking at him and his sneer was almost unbearable now.

‘I, er. It, it was Ginny. She insisted.’

Malfoy leaned into his chair, a pleased look on his face. Harry did not like that look at all. It meant trouble.

‘Always the eloquent type, Potter. Do you _always_ do what you’re told?’ Malfoy was looking at him, defiantly. ‘Don't worry, I'm sure the world is a better place now that we know the Saviour is also so…’ Malfoy seemed to be choosing the next word from an extensive list. He had a provocative look on his face. That look was having an unexpected and unwanted effect on Harry. He felt his face burn even more. ‘ _Gifted,_ ’ Malfoy let the word linger in the space between them and Harry felt the burning sensation going downwards. ‘And also that you _love_ to have some time on weekends with your chosen family,’ Malfoy mockingly air quoted him.

‘Sod off, Malfoy,’ was his only reply. The burning sensation eased, and then… ‘So... that means you actually _read_ Witch Weekly? Damn Malfoy, you keep surprising me.’

The sneer on Malfoy’s face faltered and Harry enjoyed every second of it, until...

‘At least I don't need to show my junk,’ the sneer was back in place. The burning sensation too.

‘That's because no one would be _interested_ in your junk,’ it was the perfect retort, but Harry did not like that his mind immediately supplied him with unwanted vivid imagery to go with it.

‘You'd be surprised, Potter,’ Malfoy held his gaze, his lips curling into a teasing smile and it was too much.

Suddenly the files on his desk had all the interest in the world. Harry eagerly dived into his paperwork.

They continued that way for the rest of the week, working for hours on end on those files, bickering, sorting paperwork, making snarky comments, writing reports. Finally, they both read and signed each other’s reports like usual and left them ready on Robards’ desk.

How they’d managed not to kill each other those first months, was beyond him, really. Even though he still stood by his decision on that meeting, Malfoy had a way of getting under his skin like no other, what with his sarcastic comments, arrogant stance and dubious array of sexual innuendos. Throwing snarky comebacks at each others’ faces had become their way of interacting along the years. Harry could never tell how serious Malfoy was with his pointed remarks and he felt that that was precisely Malfoy’s intention.   

When they weren’t verbally at each other’s throats they were getting themselves into some serious danger. When Robards told them they’d be dealing with the high profile cases and the most dangerous threats to the Wizarding World he wasn’t exaggerating in the least. This job meant that they’d be running into life-threatening situations every other week - something Harry had gotten quite used to all his life.

As of some years, there had been a resurgence of self-proclaimed Neo Death Eaters all over the country and also in the US. As they had no new leader to follow, they were seemingly choosing a single target to unite themselves under and those were the “enemies of the Dark Arts”, which meant everyone and anyone that opposed the Dark Arts, starting with the Aurors themselves but not stopping there.

In England that meant people who had fought in the Wizarding Wars and also known public figures who were against the Dark Arts. Of course he, as Voldemort’s killer, would be on top of that list, followed by everyone on the Auror Department, all Ministry of Magic leaders and employees, and  anyone who would make themselves visible for opposing the Dark Arts in some way or other. That meant that all Harry’s friends could also be targets and for some years he had become intensely obsessed with finding these Neo Death Eaters. The worst of it had been when a Defence Against the Dark Arts’ teacher, from a school in the US, had been murdered. They were still after that murderer, it was their biggest case so far, but most of their suspect list was already serving time in Azkaban or the wizarding prison in the US. Fortunately in the last years this movement seemed to be scattering and decreasing in number of attacks.

Working for so long with cases like these was like being back at the War, even though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, least of all his friends. They’d be too worried. His nightmares were as frequent as ever, but now his intense obsession with solving cases was back too, and that meant that he’d spend every waking moment following on every possible lead.

For months he and Malfoy travelled between England and the US, following lead after lead, not going home for months, barely sleeping three hours a night. The weird thing was: Malfoy was as obsessed as he, himself, was. Sometimes when Harry finally left the office late into the night, and only because Ron all but demanded he’d get to the pub with him and Hermione, Malfoy always stayed behind. Next morning he’d also be there before Harry, and some days he even wondered if Malfoy was actually going back to his flat at all. Malfoy was driving himself to death with work, he noticed. And that was something Harry could relate to… and respect.

Harry was used to being the reckless one, - he’d always had Hermione and Ron to put some sense into him, really - but now Malfoy seemed to have forgotten all about the old Slytherin sense of self-preservation. Completely at odds with the character of the Malfoy he once knew, this one jumped in front of Stunning spells without even blinking and was first to enter suspicious locations.

As a team, their spellwork was now faster and more precise than before, both of them doing most of it wordless and wandless when needed and playing to each other’s strengths.  Whatever problems they had at a personal level were completely absent from their interaction on the field. The truth was they had become really good at working with each other, at least when they did not have to be social. At some point it became apparent that they could read each other’s expressions in the blink of an eye. But then it became more than that.

It had started on a particularly difficult case. They were tracking a murder suspect in a warehouse and Harry had already been hit. In the dark he could see the crouching silhouette of their suspect, but he could not move, his arm and legs were injured and he was bleeding. The searing pain was almost blinding him. Malfoy was on the other side of the building, he could have a shot if he just moved along the wall to his right, but he could not see the suspect from where he was at the time.

A sudden idea came to his mind and it was possible that it wouldn’t work, but still… Harry knew he was crap at Occlumency, but he had become better at Legilimency during his training. Malfoy was a very accomplished Occlumens and skilled Legilimens, and that was where the strength of his idea lied. Harry hoped against hope that the suspect wasn’t also a Legilimens, but that was highly improbable and he decided to risk it.

Through the haze of pain he fought to quiet his breathing. He then simply let the guard on his mind completely down. He focused his mind on the suspects whereabouts, tuning all his senses to it. It wasn’t about sending a message over to Malfoy for him to read with his mind.  He needed to shut down everything else, every other distraction. He tried to tune down the pain he was feeling and the adrenaline, clearing the path to his mind for Malfoy to walk in, reducing the layers and the noise he would have to get through otherwise. The concentration required, the pain and loss of blood were close to making him pass out but then, impossibly, Malfoy was _there_. He noticed the exact moment when Malfoy’s mind reached in and saw what he was seeing. He sensed the resolve on Malfoy, and even though he could not see him or hear him move, he knew he was. Seconds before he passed out he saw Malfoy pointing the tip of his wand right at the suspect.  

None of them broached the subject with each other, but after that they started to use this type of communication every time the need came up. They’d both let some of their guard down before going into dangerous situations. Harry had his mind open to Malfoy on these occasions, only taking care to sense other Legilimens’ possible invasions, and Malfoy slowly started to do the same, when he realised that they’d work with even more efficiency when they both dit it. It came to a point where they seemed to work with a single mind, attuned to each other’s every movement and breath, reacting almost in unison. Together, they became quite deadly and Robards started to introduce them as his dream team at every Ministry function. That meant they had to attend even more functions now, something that did not please Harry in the least.

At some point, he lost count of how many times Malfoy had saved his life on the job, and also the other way around. It became apparent that the War had changed them both and this job was making them change even more. Malfoy wasn’t jumping at every opportunity to sneer at him. Even the bickering was like putting on a show, maintaining appearances. Still, outside of the field, Malfoy kept his expressions in check, never an unwanted emotion there, only disdain or annoyance. But other than those, there was nothing for Harry to see there. It wasn't like he was staring, of course.

Lately, they had been following up on a London case: a Dark Wizard who targeted ex-Death Eaters and wizards the suspect believed had turned their backs on Voldemort. On his last murder scene, a message on the wall, written in the blood of his victim, read: pureblood traitors. They had compiled a list of possible victims and assigned protection to them. It was a long list. Harry could not help but noticing that the Malfoys, Lucius and Narcissa, were of course on that list, since they’d switched alliances at convenience.

Malfoy seemed uninterested when he had commented on that, worried that this would be too personal. He knew that Malfoy was no longer living at the Manor, but that was as far as his knowledge went. Malfoy had made some sarcastic comment and continued to peruse the files.

It was the end of the week, and everyone had already left the Ministry offices. Robards had passed their office and even _he_ thought that they were getting overly keen on a friday night. They were onto something, so stopping now wasn’t on their plans. They made as if to leave, and Robards nodded approvingly, but the minute their boss stepped out of view they grabbed the reports and decided on a late night, going over every lead again.

They picked some takeout and went to Grimmauld Place. It was a long night brooding over the files over and over again and at some point they both fell asleep in the living room.

Harry woke up several hours later and registered two things: one, Draco Malfoy was asleep on his couch; two, he didn’t remember having any nightmares. He decided to focus on the first, more pressing one.

It was the first time he ever saw Malfoy’s hair disheveled, the strands lying carelessly down his face. He was lying with his shirt open at the neck and his tie loose to the side. He noticed the thin lines on his face, and the marks of exhaustion under his eyes. His pale skin looked even paler from sleep deprivation… and worry.

Now that he was asleep, Harry could read it there. Malfoy was worried about his parents, he did _care_ , even though he was _hurt_. Malfoy wasn’t talking to his parents and that was part of the reason he had gone to New York. To escape. Harry did not know how he’d known it, but he knew. He suddenly realised what he was doing, staring at Malfoy sleeping and stopped himself.

Feeling guilty, like he’d stepped on something private that was just there plainly in sight, he pulled a blanket over Malfoy and left to sleep in his room.

Only later did it hit him that aside from his closest friends, Hermione, Ron and Ginny, Malfoy was the first person to spend the night at his place.

He didn’t know what to make of that, so he kept it to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is them working together. What do you think? :) Next chapter, it's Draco POV and it gets messier and deeper!


	5. Chapter 5

_“Runnin' away from the night_  
_Runnin' away from the light_ ”  
**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds to Mars**

  
Harry fucking Potter was a reckless bastard. He most certainly did not enjoy life because he was trying to get himself killed _every other week_.

That was the conclusion that Draco came up to after another one of their cases ended up with curses flying everywhere and Potter jumping in front of him and being hit in the chest by a very nasty Blasting Curse.

Draco found himself at St. Mungo’s, waiting outside closed doors more often than not, fuming about Potter’s recklessness and ignoring his own wounds to wait for hours on some news on Potter’s condition.

‘Oi, Malfoy, this is Harry we're talking about, you know? Same bloke you went to school with?’ Weasley sounded amused.

They’d been waiting for seven hours straight. Potter had been hit by another curse, aimed at Draco. Of course fucking Potter had to take the hit. Draco managed to arrest the suspect they’ve been following for months, and called for backup, before he'd Apparated to St. Mungo’s. He was now trying hard to ignore Weasley, but the other went on seemingly unaware.

‘Also same bloke that offed that noseless nut job, some years ago, I think you might remember him?...’

As Draco did not answer he continued in a mock-explanatory tone.

‘Getting blasted twice every other week comes with the package. So I suggest you take some expert advice on this and just sit back and relax. He's going to be fine,’ at this, Weasley leaned into his chair and stretched his legs like he was on a long awaited holiday.

Granger arrived at that precise moment and spotted Draco sitting there. She seemed surprised, then something shifted in her eyes. She came up and kissed Weasley. Draco did not like that knowing look in her face and decided there and then that he would never again set foot in a hospital because of Harry Potter.

Two weeks later he found himself again on the other side of a white door, this time at a wizarding hospital somewhere in northern Germany, where the Healers had just disappeared to regrow some of Potter’s bones. _Again_. He was amazed that the man still had any bones to begin with. He told himself that he was there because they were on a case when it happened and he needed to report it thoroughly. And report it he did.

Then a week later, and back in England, he and Potter both suffered concussions, but Potter was in observation for much longer. He only noticed that he was standing for six hours straight in the same St. Mungo's corridor when Granger got there to check on Potter and eyed him with a knowing expression that really annoyed Draco.

‘What?’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘I was just leaving. See if the _precious_ Saviour doesn't knock his head on his way out,’ he was halfway through the corridor when he added. ‘Or better yet just let him knock himself over again, that way I can do my job without daily visits to this damned hospital.’

Granger had a weird sort of smile on her face.

‘You know, it almost looks like you’re _worried_ about him.’

He felt his lips curling into a cold sneer but that was all he could do because the perfect retort to that statement never came and he left, reassuring himself that that would never happen again.

He gave up all those promises to himself when Potter almost got killed in their next mission. Draco had blood streaming down his face and told himself that that was why he kept screaming for them to fix Potter. He was so out of his mind that the old Slytherin ways came back to him and he heard himself say - ‘The Malfoy family is your patron, and we’re paying you to excel. I swear to you I'll remove every funding, _every Galleon_ if he does not come out of there alive. _Do you hear me?_ ’ - he sounded deranged even to himself, blood dripping from his chin now.

The Healers were frantic. One of them tried to treat his injury and was screamed at again, so he gave up, and another one was eyeing him with contempt when Draco spotted Weasley gawking at him and Granger at his side, a distraught look on her face. He turned on the spot and came up to them.

 _‘Your_ friend is trying to _off_ himself like the fucking _hero_ he’s meant to be. Can’t you see it?’ he spat.

He did not wait for an answer and sped past them without another word. He heard Granger calling his name, but kept walking. She knew he was right. _Let them deal with it_ , he thought, _he’s_ their _friend and family_.

Potter came out of the hospital three days later and never knew that Draco had been there every one of those days, silently staring every Healer with a menacing look and thoroughly ignoring the No Smoking sign hanging on the wall behind him.

It wasn't just that Potter was becoming part of his life but also that his friends had become close to Draco in a way that he would have deemed impossible.

It was probably because of Luna, he believed. She could be really persuasive sometimes, and that was why hers and Potter’s friends tolerated him, he was sure. Draco and her got together every week for tea, dinner or just hanging out. He knew Longbottom and Ginevra, Luna’s lovers’, did not like him nor had they any reason to, but Luna made it all happen when she’d insist on having him around while they were visiting her.

So he found out he actually liked having conversations with Longbottom and also that Ginevra was one of the funniest people to be around. At some point, even Weasley had stopped having a problem with him being invited to go to the pub with the rest of them. In the beginning he always left early on some excuse. This world wasn’t his, those were Potter’s friends and he felt utterly out of place around them. But now it wasn’t so bad.

It was another friday night and the seven of them were now at the usual pub. Potter was sitting next to him, his robes unfastened carelessly. So close, Draco could see the faded lines of the famous scar showing under the messy black hair. How he had hated that mark. _So special, the Boy Who Lived._ He waited for the once familiar surge of repulse or hate to come but it didn’t. Now it never did.

Instead he was thinking about other scars, like the ones on his chest from torture and the Sectumsempra curse, but mostly the one on his arm, the Dark Mark. Both his and Potter’s scars looked strangely alike now, fading into the skin but still there.

He suddenly remembered another scar, the one on Granger’s arm. He was used to the sting of guilt that went through him at the thought. She was sitting across the table, sipping her drink and absorbed in a conversation with Longbottom. Draco had noticed that, like him, she rarely showed her arms. He could still hear her screams, ripping through him. He had been forced to watch and had been so sick he’d thrown up as soon as he was away from Bellatrix. His aunt was the most vicious and sadistic person he had ever known. Her deranged pleasure in torture was something he tried hard to forget. Unfortunately, he had some scars of his own to remember that too. He looked away from Granger and avoided Potter at his side.

Longbottom had deep gashes on his face, they were almost faded too, but shone still against his skin. Weasley had deep scars on his arms from that time, but also new ones from his Auror work.

Potter was lifting his hand holding a pint. There was another scar there, an old one… the word _lies_ still stood out. Draco wasn't going to account for the new scars, the man practically seemed to collect them.

They were an odd bunch indeed, he thought, as he lifted his glass of wine.

A generation full of scars.


	6. Chapter 6

_“No matter how many lies that I live  
_ _I will never regret”_  
**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds to Mars**

  
Harry had thought he would have a hard time explaining to Ron and Hermione why he believed Malfoy was different. The fact that he’d apologized, years ago, for all of the bullying he had put them through had been a clear first hint of that change, but he felt that something else was different now. He just didn’t know how to name it.

Ron had been the last of the group to actually forgive Malfoy, and he’d still wrinkle his nose every time Malfoy got together with them for their regular night at the pub. So when Ron was the first to agree with him that evening he raised a surprised eyebrow at his friend.

They were already at the usual wizarding pub. Malfoy and Luna would be arriving later on. Something about going to a Muggle tattoo shop. Luna was probably thinking about getting a tattoo, Harry just wasn’t sure that Malfoy, different or not, would be the right company to go to a Muggle shop of any sort.

Ron had asked the wizard at the counter for three Butterbeers. He handed one to Hermione and the other to Harry.

‘I’m just saying... at least it makes sense with the git I keep seeing at St. Mungo’s waiting for you every other week,’ he said as they reached a free table in a far corner of the pub and sat.

‘Say what?’ Harry almost choked on his Butterbeer.

‘I thought he’d banged his head so hard that he went bonkers,’ Ron said, looking serious. ‘But then, last time, we even saw him screaming at the Healers after you got blasted,’ Ron glanced at Hermione, who was nodding her head in agreement. ‘You should have seen their faces. Reckon he was about to hex them or something, screaming at them to get you fixed. But then again _he did bang his head_ that one time…’ he mused.

Harry could not believe it or picture it. Malfoy, the emotionless bastard, screaming his lungs out?

‘Maybe it was just that one time?’ Harry said. ‘I almost got offed, he needed to report it.’

That sounded more like Malfoy, being there to report the case properly. But Hermione was shaking her head.

‘No Harry, it wasn't just that _one_ time, he has been there more times than any of us. Even when you’re abroad, I dare say. Probably _every time_. At least in St. Mungo’s he has, I overheard one of the Healers complaining.’

‘But I never saw him there…’ he said.

‘He doesn’t want you to,’ replied Hermione, her tone clearly indicating that she thought this conclusion was quite obvious.

Apparently Malfoy made a point of leaving and never letting Harry know he was even there. _Why?_ He suddenly remembered something else. Up until that moment he was convinced that he’d imagined it, but now… the last time he’d got blasted, right before he hit the ground, he had heard someone screaming his name. The terrified scream had seared itself into his mind. He hadn’t thought about since, but now…

Ron was looking at him sideways and Harry did not like that look.

‘What?’ his own voice faltered.

Ron dropped his gaze to his Butterbeer, in search of what he meant to say. Harry fidgeted on his seat. What was going on?

‘Ron?’

‘Look, we’re worried about you, mate. It was something Malfoy said,’ Ron finally looked up at him and Harry noticed that even Ron appeared to think his own statement sounded weird.

‘You’re worried about _me_ because of something _Malfoy_ said?’ Harry repeated, nonplussed.

Ron took a long sip of his Butterbeer and seemed to find courage somewhere in it.

‘I mean it, Harry. He said… he thinks you’re… he thinks you’re being too reckless with yourself on the job. At least I think that’s what he meant. And I think he’s got a point.’

Harry had never thought he’d see the day Ron Weasley would agree with a thing Malfoy said. He was so bewildered, that he took some time to take in the rest of the message.

‘You gotta be kidding me… _He what?_ What does that even _mean_? We’re Aurors for fuck’s sake! It’s not exactly a very safe job, now is it?’ he knew his tone was edgy now. That was not how he wanted that conversation to go. He did not want to talk about himself.

Ron set his empty glass on the table between them and sighed. He suddenly looked really distraught and tired, and that made Harry even more nervous. Ron did not usually worry about him like that.

Hermione looked at Ron and then towards Harry. She pressed her lips together. Harry braced himself because he knew that look all too well.

‘He said you’re trying to off yourself,’ Hermione said in a determined tone.

Harry felt stunned to his chair. His heart was racing now.

‘That’s what he said,’ repeated Ron. ‘Harry, I know it’s the job, but… we’re worried about you. Maybe this job is too much. The War is over. You deserve something more than fighting dark wizards for the rest of your life.’

Harry was starting to feel sick. A million thoughts were rushing through his head and he suddenly felt that the pub was too crowded, too loud. He tried to quiet his own breathing. Hermione was talking to him, her hand on his arm.

‘Harry, it’s what I told you… sleeping with your wand under a pillow, like you did during the War, drinking too much, and you keep…’ Hermione went on but he could not listen anymore. Her voice had faded to the background or maybe his heart was beating to loud. She was still talking. ‘We want you to be happy. How long has it been since you were really happy?’

He got up fast, almost making his chair drop to the floor. He caught it in the last minute, his hand shaking.

‘I… I just can’t talk about this right now. Okay?’

Hermione nodded and gave him a weak smile. Ron started to say something, but he didn’t listen and turned to leave.

‘Harry, where are you going?’ Ron was on his feet.

‘Outside. Alone. Please.’

He left the pub. They did not follow him, like he asked.

Harry leaned against the wall, letting the cold evening air calm him down. He knew it would eventually come to this, someone was bound to notice something was _off_ , but to his own dismay it had been Malfoy.

The War was over, Ron had said. Except that it wasn’t, at least not for him.

Everyone thought him a hero, but he just felt worn-out. It was like he was playing his own part in a story. He _did_ know the part back and forth and so he just went with the motions. And it was so easy to just do what was expected of him, to keep acting like he was still that person whose life was focused on a single goal: to defeat evil.

That was why he’d chosen to be an Auror. He felt like that was the only thing he was good for. There were no questions, no doubts there. All he ever did was fighting evil so why not just keep doing that? He had dived into Auror training and then working in an international team with Malfoy had been the next immersive challenge. Work was so exciting that it almost made him forget that he was still playing that same part.

There was a reason he liked meeting random strangers at clubs: in the dark rooms packed with bodies smelling of sex he was just another body, flushed, dancing, wanting. He didn’t need to be Harry Potter. He was just Harry, if they would remember even that at the end of the night. If not, it was just as well for him. He just wanted to be the shag for that night and nothing more. He felt good with how well this worked for him, at least until his shags got to see him in broad daylight the next day and their eyes fell on the scar on his forehead.

When this kept happening he decided two things: first to never set foot again on a wizard’s club, only Muggle ones. Second: never sleep the night, just to make sure. It worked just fine from then on. He’d fuck or let himself be fucked by some bloke in a back room and when he asked him if they could continue on his flat he’d politely excuse himself. Working as a private investigator - as he told the Muggles he had shagged - really worked as the perfect excuse. He could always count on some urgent, out of the blue case - real or imaginary - and leave at any moment.

Those were the only fleeting moments when he wasn’t playing that part. But even then he didn’t feel like himself. He felt so broken. He knew he had forgotten that there was more to life. He’d learned that when he fought Voldemort, he had learned that his greatest weapon was love. He still believed that. He’d seen the power of it all around him. He loved Hermione and Ron, they were his family and he wanted nothing more than for them to be happy. He loved Ginny with all his heart. Their relationship was no longer romantic, but that did not mean he loved her less. He loved Luna and Neville. He loved and missed people who were gone: Sirius, Lupin, Fred, Tonks… There was not a day that went by that he did not remember them. And even though this love was there, all around him, he felt like he did not belong, he felt like he was just watching people getting on with their lives, while he drowned himself on work, trying hard to disappear. He could not share their happiness, he felt detached from it. That was why he kept working himself to death… drinking himself to death. Shagging was just some way for him to feel alive - _temporarily_. He did not care if he lived or died on the job. He had nothing else to look forward than those moments where he fought to death. And Malfoy, of all people, had noticed it.

‘Harry!’ Luna was calling him from across the street, grinning.

Malfoy was standing next to her, his face unreadable as always, a cigarette on his hand. Together they formed the weirdest pair Harry had ever seen: Luna was dressed in many assorted pieces of clothing all of which had a different colour and none of which matched in any way. Weirdly enough, this strange assortment made some kind of sense when she was the one wearing it. Malfoy, on the other hand, was dressed all in black Muggle clothes, from his long coat, down to a tight button-down shirt, ending on his black shoes. Only his blonde hair and pale face provided some kind of contrast. He looked even taller like this.

They both came over to the pub. Luna kissed him on the cheek and Harry hugged her. Malfoy nodded once at him. Harry nodded back. They both stood silent and awkwardly apart, their stance making a stark contrast with Luna’s.

‘I’m going in, Draco,’ Luna said brightly. ‘Ginny will be here any moment now,’ she opened the door to the pub. Light and warmth came rushing towards them and then the door closed itself. Malfoy leaned against the wall, right next to Harry, smoking. None of them said a single word.

There was a lot that Harry would like to ask Malfoy. Like why did he seem to care for him and why did he act like he didn’t. But there was just too much on his mind right now. They stood silently next to each other, staring at passersby walking up and down the street in their normal day to day lives. Harry wished for a moment that he could be one of them, not a Muggle, but a wizard not stuck in a War long gone, someone that still looked forward for the next day instead of the next curse or hex that would send him to the hospital wing, or the next shag that would make him forget.

From time to time his eyes wandered unavoidably to the man next to him. From time to time he noticed the grey eyes trained on him too. They still said nothing at all. It was going to be a long night. And he badly needed a drink or several if he was going to make it.

Malfoy finished his cigarette, his eyes lingered on Harry and for a split second he seemed about to say something. Harry also opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t. Malfoy turned and went inside. Harry let out the breath he was holding and followed him in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another build up chapter, tension is (hopefully) rising. Just to let you know that in the next chapter one of them will not be able to hold it any longer. Anyone wanna bet who? I'll post the next chapter if the first person that comments guesses who ;)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of @WL_Erkling guess, here is the next chapter.  
> If you were waiting for smut, well, this is your chapter.  
> More to follow :)  
> Please share any thoughts or comments you might have or maybe take a guess at what happens next!

_“There is a fire inside of this heart_  
_And a riot about to explode into flames”_  
**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds to Mars**

  
They were both so drunk that night. Almost everyone was.

The group had gone to a famous Muggle club after the usual night at the wizarding pub. Ginny loved this club, she’d insist on taking them there every time she was in England.

The music was loud and pressing around them, drawing the bodies ever closer together. Ron was yelling something at Harry, a wide grin on his face, his arm around Hermione’s waist. Their conversation from earlier was all but forgotten in the hours that followed. They were out, having fun, and for that night that was all that mattered. Harry did not get a word of what Ron said, and grinned back. Hermione leaned in, kissing Ron and they laughed at each other. Harry smiled at them. He never tired of seeing them together and happy, it made it all worth it. He nodded towards the counter and Ron lifted his hand asking for two shots for him and Hermione.

Harry found his way through pressed sex-scented bodies.

‘Fancy a drink?’ he felt a hard body pressing against his, a breath on his neck.

‘No, thanks,’ he replied. He did not really appreciate it when strangers got so close to him without even so much as a hello to begin with. He continued to move, excusing himself from people all over.

A flash of white blond hair caught his eye. Malfoy was already at the counter, a drink in his hand. It was still very weird to see him dressed in Muggle clothes, even though they were fucking expensive of course.

The long coat was gone, his button-down shirt was open at the neck and his pants were so tight it was impossible not to notice that they fitted Malfoy’s body _every-fucking-where_. Harry all but forced his eyes to look at his face, instead of moving downwards to that arse almost on display. As if Harry had called his name, Malfoy lifted his head from the drink and their eyes met.

They’d been at it the whole night. Staring at each other had become a sort of thing they did every time they were out with the group. As always, it was becoming ever more difficult to look away as the night went on and alcohol went in.

Harry felt a surge of something inside him and he still refused to name it. He held Malfoy’s gaze and continued his progression towards the counter. Malfoy’s eyes darted down, as if pulled by an invisible line and he felt them raking all over his body. It was way too hot in this club, Harry thought, but still he did not look away.

‘Hey,’ he said, coming up to Malfoy.

‘Hey,’ Malfoy sipped his drink, and still held his eyes. Harry felt his body burning everywhere. He couldn’t think with those eyes on him like that.

The bartender was leaning over the counter, his face very close to Malfoy’s. They seemed to be having a conversation of some sort before.

‘Three shots please,’ asked Harry.

The bartender seemed annoyed at the request but obliged.

‘Here.’

Harry left the Muggle money at the counter, feeling Malfoy’s eyes following his every movement. A sudden crazy idea came to his mind. What if they’d just stop looking and did something about this? Whatever the fuck _this_ was.

The bartender was leaning forwards, closer to Malfoy, and touched his arm. Malfoy stared at his hand like he was just now realising where he was.  

‘Remember me?’ the bartender had a teasing smile on his face.

‘Yeah, you just offered me this glass of wine. Really nice of you,’ he said in an uninterested tone.

As Malfoy was clearly busy, Harry moved to the dance floor, carrying the shots.

But even though he did not look to check, he still felt those eyes on him as he moved through the crowd.

 

***

 

Draco couldn't tear his eyes off of Potter.

He knew it was that last Firewhiskey at the wizard’s pub, before they came to the Muggle club. And then the shots they’d drank there. And the drink the bartender had offered him. And the next one. He’d lost count. At some point even Weasley was hugging him on the dance floor - and that was _surely_ because of too much drinking.

The bartender was still looking at him, now clearly pissed off.

‘I’m Josh. You _fucked me_ last week,’ he said in an accusing tone.

_Oh._

‘Were you any good?’ Draco asked casually.

He did not remember him. Nor anyone he’d fuck last week really. It wasn’t personal. He and Potter had been working like crazy on three different cases and his nightmares had been worse than usual the whole week. He had gone out a few times just to fuck his brains out and then finally be able to get some sleep. He did not even hear the bartender’s answer.

Potter was dancing among his friends, another drink on his hand and a stunning smile on his face. If one of the Witch Weekly’s reporters were there they’d have a field day. Of course Potter danced like he did everything else: he just did it, no fears, no hesitations. Draco emptied his glass. _Fuck_ , he could not look away.

‘Draco, I thought we could -’

Shit. The bartender was still there. _What was his name again?_

‘Been there, done that, moving on now,’ he was getting tired of this. He was pretty sure he’d made his intentions clear. It had been just a one time fuck. He meant to leave, but the bartender gripped his arm. Draco jerked his hand away.

‘You and I -’

‘Are going nowhere,’ Draco cut in. ‘Look, you knew it was a one time thing. We talked about it before, I never promised you anything.’

The bartender was looking hurt, but he was now staring beyond Draco and he did not need to turn to know who he was looking at.

‘Who's that? You keep staring at him. _Are you fucking him?_ ’

 _I wish_ , his drunken brain helpfully provided.

‘Unless I'm fucking _you_ \- and I’m _not_ \- it's none of your business whom I fuck.’

‘Hey Draco,’ Luna was coming up to him. He smiled at her, feeling relieved. She stood on her feet and kissed his cheek, pulling on his arm. ‘Let’s go dance.’

He gripped his chance to get away from the bartender who was left speechless at his retort. He moved through the crowd, with Luna holding his hand.

Harry Potter was dancing between Ginevra and Longbottom, and it was impossible not to look. Everyone knew that Potter and Weasley were not an item anymore, but still someone might wonder at that sight. The three of them were dancing so close together, that their bodies brushed everywhere, and Longbottom’s hands were travelling up along Potter’s naked arms, making him laugh and move even more slowly, teasingly, to the rhythm of the song. His tight shirt left almost nothing to the imagination, and so did his pants. Draco’s gaze was drawn to every curve and sight of skin possible and he felt his mouth go dry.

Luna went up to Longbottom and easily got into the sex-filled dance, her arms around one of her lovers. Longbottom was kissing her and Ginevra came up from behind, placing a kiss on her neck, her hands grabbing Luna’s waist. Luna was smiling, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted. Unlike the rest of their group, and indeed most people at the club, those three weren’t drunk at all. Draco never saw them touching any alcohol that night and still they looked the happier, he mused. He felt even more drunk at this thought.

Ginevra’s mouth was still intent on Luna’s neck, and that kiss was turning into something more but Draco’s attention was lost to that sight the minute Potter spotted him and green eyes burned everything through the space between them. Draco’s body heated up like a flame and this time he could not shut it down. His eyes fired across the room, almost screaming with unrelenting want.

And suddenly Potter was on him, a silly dazzling smile on his face and his hands grabbed at Draco’s waist driving them impossibly close and he smelled of alcohol and dancing and sweat and... _fuck_. The club was dark and full of people going down on each other and Harry Potter was pressed against him, full, hard, drunk, and Draco was drunk and it felt undeniably good. He had spent all those hours imagining something like this. It was like one of his disturbing dreams, the ones that weren’t nightmares, but to which he still woke up alone screaming, his body burning. But this wasn’t a dream.

He then did something he regretted the next day. And kept regretting next week.

He grabbed Potter’s hand and dragged him to another room inside the club, away from the rest of the group. He caught sight of Granger, looking at them like it all made some sense, but she was also drunk so next second she was kissing Weasley, their bodies pressed together, hands going downwards…

His back hit a wall. The back room smelled even more of sex, it was packed with strangers fucking, and the music drunk their moans and breaths.

‘Potter.’

The word escaped his lips. It was supposed to be a protest of some kind, a question even but it ended up sounding like a moan directly into Potter’s open mouth that was suddenly on his. _Harry Potter was kissing him_.

The thought took over his whole mind, but his body seemed to still know what to do because his mouth opened up to Potter’s and Draco found himself rock hard and pinned against a wall, the whole of Potter’s body on him. His arms wrapped around Potter of their own accord, and Merlin it was even better than what he’d imagined. His hands went down Potter’s arms and back, and he felt Potter’s hands raking him, burning, searching beyond the clothes he was wearing.

He forgot what he wanted to protest or ask - it didn’t even make sense since he was the one who had brought Potter there… to do what? It was a room full of sex and he had known it. He just let himself go, after all he was too tired and horny. They’d been at this staring game for too long and his last two nights were sleepless. This was a good way to spend another one.

Draco let his mouth fall open to Potter’s invasion, and felt his tongue breaching him and those strong hands were everywhere on his body, like they’d wanted nothing else. Potter’s hands grabbed his arse and then climbed upwards, across his back, pushing him closer and making his erection grind impossibly against Potter’s. Draco was losing it.

One minute Potter was on him, on his mouth, his hands pressed against Draco’s back, teasing, the smell of his body driving Draco mad with need, the next he was down on his knees in front of him, his eyes looking up with a question. Draco heard it clearly as if it was spoken out loud. _Can I blow you off?_ And then, he nodded in response.

It was all it took. As if in slow motion, Draco saw Potter raising his hands to his fly. He was too hard to register fast enough that that was _Harry Potter_ kneeling before him, about to suck him off.

Potter was looking at his hard cock now, his mouth open, mesmerized and Draco knew he did not order his hands to do anything but they moved. They were entwined on Potter’s dark messy hair, pulling and pushing gently, and then on his face and neck, too intimate, Draco’s nails scratching slightly. Potter leaned into his touch and finally Draco’s fingers lingered on Potter’s open lips. He felt Potter’s breath on his hands and then at the tip of his cock.

Potter licked his own lips, thirst written all over his face and he was so close that his tongue touched Draco’s cock slightly and that was enough to set them both off. He lost it and he felt Potter losing it too and pull him whole into his mouth with a single thrust. Draco was positive that he cried then, but the music was so loud it swallowed his strangled scream.

Potter was sucking him off like Draco was his favourite dessert, his tongue twirling around him, precise and teasing, his hands on his arse, desperate and hurting and his mouth impossibly sweet and wet and wanting. Potter moved along his shaft, and his tongue touched a sweet spot there. Draco’s head hit the wall behind him but he didn’t even felt it. All he could feel was _Potter_. Potter not leaving that impossible sweet spot he’d found and bringing Draco so fast almost to the edge that he forcefully clenched both hands on Potter’s hair. And Potter cried and then _moaned_ around his cock, he felt it, slight vibrations spreading all over his shaft and that tongue bringing him too close to desperation. Draco fucked himself into that mouth that was taking him full, feeling Potter’s moans with every thrust. He did not even know who was fucking who anymore.

When he thought he was about to lose his mind, his hips jerking uncontrollably, Potter lifted his eyes, pleadingly, to look at him and what Draco saw there, even in the near darkness, sent him reeling over the edge.

_Come in my mouth, Draco, please... please. I want to taste you._

He could hear it clearly, that voice, filled with desperate want, inside his mind. Potter was begging.

A split second before he came into the hot, demanding, sweet mouth around his cock he had only one thought and he could have laughed out loud if he wasn’t screaming himself hoarse.  _Harry Potter liked sucking cock. Harry Potter liked men._ And then his mind went blank. It was the most drunkenly amazing blow job of his life.

And also it was a mistake because a few hours later Draco Malfoy woke up in his flat, alone, and with the meanest headache of his life. But it was nothing compared to how his heart ached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was *my first ever written smut*, please tell me what you think! I loved writing this :)


	8. Chapter 8

_“No matter how many lies that I live  
_ _I’ll never regret”_  
**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds to Mars**

  
‘So, about last night…’ he began.

Malfoy took so much time to look at him, that Harry wondered if he had heard him.

It was early morning and Harry had just arrived at the office. Malfoy was already there, organizing their paperwork, his Auror robes open at the neck. Harry had kissed that bit of skin just hours before. He forced his eyes away from it but they were drawn to the mouth he had had under his and he was at a loss for words. Malfoy’s hair was perfect as always, his face unreadable and seemingly well-rested. There was no trace of the Malfoy from the night before, the one who broke under Harry’s hands, the one who screamed himself hoarse coming into his mouth. That cry had driven itself into Harry’s mind.

He cleared his throat, feeling something gripping at the pit of his stomach. He felt sick and the massive hangover did not account for all of it.

‘What about it?’

Malfoy addressed the files, not him. His voice was cold and detached. He was writing something with his elegant black quill, and did not even lift his eyes. Straight and poised, everything about him was collected. How he managed to look like _that_ after a night spent drinking themselves to death Harry did not know.

 _So that’s how we’re going to act around each other now,_ Harry thought. _Hours ago you were coming into my mouth and now you won’t even look at me._

He ran his hand through his hair. He was sure that now he looked even more deranged. Several colleagues had eyed him on the elevator, probably wondering what kind of mess he was in now. He knew he looked like shit. He also felt like shit and it was the need to see Malfoy and talk to him that made him get out of bed that morning with one of the biggest hangovers of his life. The grip was turning his insides into a knot and his head was throbbing with pain.

Malfoy had finally stopped writing, setting his quill on the desk and his eyes turned to face Harry. And there was nothing in there for him, nothing about the night before, _nothing at all_. Silence filled the space between them, all the fire from the night before quite extinguished now. He should have known it would be like this. Malfoy’s eyes were unreadable, cold and blank. Harry was suddenly reminded of Snape and that did not help the knot in the pit of his stomach.

‘It was just a blow job, Potter,’ Malfoy stated that with the same tone he’d use if he was just mentioning a cup of tea not to his liking. And maybe that was all it was for him. ‘We were drunk. We were horny, and apparently we both like blokes. It will never happen again,’ Malfoy’s tone was almost uninterested, but Harry noticed that when he spoke the last words his eyes stared at some distant point above Harry’s shoulder. ‘Now, can we get to work?’ he turned to the files on his desk and started to sort through them.

The grip inside Harry tightened and twisted. He felt he was going to be sick any minute now. _It was just a blow job._ Why would it be anything else? Malfoy had left immediately afterwards without even so much as a goodbye to him. Harry just stood there, Malfoy’s taste still on his mouth. He thought of going after him, but didn’t. If Malfoy wanted to leave, he should leave. Harry went home alone to a sleepless night.

‘Right. Glad we cleared that up,’ he heard himself say, his own voice sounding from very far away. ‘I’m going to grab a cup of coffee,’ he said, more to himself than Malfoy who kept reading the files. He left their office and absentmindedly walked in the general direction of the Atrium.  

Malfoy was right. It had been no different from any other of his shags. Except they knew each other so there was the _next day_ to deal with. And they worked together, so he needed to sort this out with himself fast. The matter was quite simple: he had blown off someone because he was drunk and because they’d both felt like it. The problem was that that _someone_ happened to be Draco Malfoy.

He’d arrived at the Atrium and forgot why he was there. But he could not, for the life of him, forget how Malfoy had broken under him. How his body responded to his mouth, how it burned at the simple touch of his hands. And how he _tasted_ . And there were also those fucking staring games they played. _That_ had to stop if they were to continue to work with each other.

Something had been stirring at the back of his mind for some time now. He had refused to name it over and over again, but after that night he knew that what little chance he’d had of ignoring or denying it was gone.

He was completely and utterly turned on by Draco Malfoy and now he could not pretend, even to himself, that this attraction wasn’t there, because _it fucking was_.

He’d got down on his knees for Draco Malfoy and he’d do it all over again. He did not regret it in the least. But Malfoy had been clear. It had been just a blow job. A one time thing. He knew how those worked, that was his motto too.

 _It was just a blow job_ , he repeated to himself. So why did it hurt so much now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a small chapter but I think it says all it needs to say. Next one is Draco again, it will be much longer and very revealing. Would love if you could comment!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you ever so much to everyone that commented so far! I'm updating earlier because of all your enthusiasm :)  
> So, this is Draco again. Angst. And more angst. And then some more.

_“No matter how many breaths that you took_  
_You still couldn't breathe”_  
**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds to Mars**

  
The fire was all around him. Someone was screaming in pain, but he could not see them. The screams were echoing inside his head, as Draco fled the flames almost reaching him.

He ran, not even watching where he was going. He tried to cry for help but instead choked on the smoke and collapsed to the floor, his hand, dead white, still gripping tightly at the wand. He kept trying hard to concentrate on spells but nothing seemed to work with this wand. It wasn't his. Someone else had his wand, he didn't remember _who_. _It’s lost, it’s lost_ , he kept thinking desperately. The flames were now all around him, there was no way out.

 _I’m going to die._ He’d burn, slowly, to death. It seemed appropriate somehow. The wand on his hand did not respond to him. He’d just wait for the flames, they shouldn’t take too long now. The world around him smelled of burnt skin. Someone else was dying but he could not save them, he was helpless, _useless_.

 _And thus ends the Malfoy line_ , he thought crazily. _At least you won’t have what you want, Lucius._ This thought actually made him almost happy.

Draco fixed his eyes on the flames closing in on him, inviting them to come closer still. Dying did not seem so bad after all. He’d finally be able to rest. He’d be away from everything. The flames were starting to lick at his robes. Burning to death was a painful deal, some part of his brain supplied, but he couldn’t be bothered to care.

He suddenly felt someone grabbing him at the waist, lifting him and pulling him away from the heat of the fire.

_‘Draco, we have to go!’_

He knew that voice. Only he didn’t remember from where. His lungs were filled with smoke. Someone was tugging at him, strong arms hoisting him. _Just leave me be, it’s no use_ , he wanted to tell them, but the voice kept going.

_‘Draco. Stay with me. Draco, please.’_

Those arms were holding him in a tight grip, but the stranger wasn’t running away from the flames. They’d both die there. Draco opened his eyes, his chest felt like it was crashing down on him.

The man holding him up had a wand and he was fighting the flames. The fire was receding somehow. _No._ He was supposed to die. Draco was choking. His legs buckled under him but the man had him and set him gently on the ground. The air around them was quieter now. Almost still. The wild scorching fire had been put out.

_‘Draco, you cannot die. It’s not over yet. The world isn’t split into good people and Death Eaters, Draco…’_

_What a strange thing to say_ , he thought. The man was not right, Draco did not agree with him, he should tell him that but he was rapidly losing consciousness. He realised he was not breathing.

Something brushed against his mouth. Something soft. Something kind. His lips opened of their own accord and his lungs were filled with air. The man was leaning gently over him, their bodies touching everywhere and suddenly Draco was _alive_. He took a deep breath inside the mouth on top of his, and his eyes shot open.

Bright green eyes were staring into his and his body was suddenly alive everywhere, every fiber, every stretch of skin, he was alive, alive, alive…

_‘Draco…’_

Draco woke with a start, his breath heaving, his body so hard it hurt. He sat up fast, still feeling those green eyes on him, relentless.

He stared wildly around. There were no flames. And no green eyes, of course. He was alone in his room, in semi-darkness. His body’s temperature was dropping fast and he held his own arms around himself, trying to steady his breathing. He felt simultaneously terrified and aroused. _You’re so fucked up, Draco._ Even his thoughts sounded cold inside his head. He knew he would not go back to sleep.

Feeling colder by the minute, he went into the kitchen, looking for a cigarette. His hands were shaking so much that he did not dare light it wandlessly as usual. He went back for his wand, lighted his cigarette and leaned against the counter, trying to steady himself. The clock on the wall marked 6 am. He had just gone to sleep half an hour ago. He pressed his hands to his temples, feeling the headache spreading.

He had survived by compartmentalizing every vulnerable feeling he ever had and by suppressing every emotion that could make him weak. That was how he had been able to leave the club right after Potter sucked him off. For a mad second there, he’d thought of grabbing Potter and Apparating them to his flat. He’d almost done it. As that thought had crossed his mind, he realised he needed to leave. That was the safest option, for the both of them. After the massive orgasm, he’d felt every bit sober. And Potter would too, and when he did he would regret what they’d done. He’d tell him what a big mistake it had been and that it meant nothing. _Of course it didn't._ But Draco did not need to hear it from him, he already knew it. He only wished that it could be that simple. That had been the best blow job of his life so far, drunken or not.

It was lucky that he had mastered the basics of Occlumency reasonably well. Actually, he had become ever better at it, after being forcefully trained by none other than Bellatrix Lestrange. His aunt wasn’t exactly a patient teacher and after being tortured at the tip of her wand, he’d learned fast enough how to guard his mind and arm it against invasion. It became one of his most accomplished abilities in Auror training, something that had made him stand out.

He now did it easily and almost all of the time. That was how he’d gone to work that same day, like nothing had happened the night before. He knew that he’d wake to a massive hangover so he drank a potion he’d personally brewed for this type of thing. And it was a good thing he did too, because he still woke to one of the biggest headaches of his life. And the headache was still there, but as predicted his face showed nothing.

Facing Potter at the office had been the easy part. He had no difficulty in playing the cold bastard. Of course Potter would bring it up. Even if he didn’t, it was plainly written all over his face. Draco had done what needed to be done. It was over, it couldn’t happen again. It had been just a blow job. They needed to be able to continue to work together. After all, work was all he had.

Seven years ago he had said yes at that meeting because he could not stand the challenge in Potter’s eyes and not respond to it. But above all he needed to prove to himself that _he could do it_. The work had proven itself immersing enough for him to drown in and if he wanted he could just devote every single waking hour to it and still have tasks piling up on his desk.

This job had kept him safely away from the Manor. He had bought a flat in London and did not disclose his address, not even to his mother. Lucius and Narcissa knew, of course, that he was back in England. His mother had owled him several times at the Ministry and invited him to the Manor. He politely refused all her invitations.

After all those years he’d been away from them, they had finally understood that Draco was not going to give them what they wanted: a grandson, a heir to the Malfoy line. He would not parent a child, he’d be an awful father, like his was. He did what was expected of him up to certain a point. He was still the Malfoy heir and administered some of the family’s holdings and businesses for his father, even though refusing to talk to him. But he'd drawn the line on the heir. He'd be the last Malfoy.

That was the only thing he knew: cold affectionless relationships. He felt crippled. Broken. He’d chosen hate again. Hate was safe. It was something he could hold on to. Hate never questioned, never faltered, never wondered, never doubted. In the black and white world he’d grown up in, hate was _reliable_. It told you where you stood because it named your enemy. Draco had been taught who that enemy should be: mudbloods, useless wizards who sided up with Muggles or muggle-borns.

But Draco had never dreamt of being a Death Eater. It just had been expected of him. He’d grown up with stories of glory about the Dark Lord and his followers. In the end, none of it had been true. There had been no glory, just pain. Voldemort had meant for him to die, as a payback for his father’s failure. He knew that Draco could never kill Dumbledore, that he’d die trying. And he almost did. But worse than that, he’d been almost responsible for taking other people’s lives in the process. If it weren’t for Potter, he’d probably be a killer.

There was no place for failure in the world he’d lived in. All Lucius ever gave him was cold heartless demands and Draco knew he only cared for him because of the Malfoy line. Following in his father’s footsteps had never been an option, it had been his _duty_. Draco _had to_ be in Slytherin, according to the family tradition; he _had to_ be the best in every class that mattered; he _had to_ beat Potter at Quidditch; he _had to_ chose his friends wisely; he _had to_ keep quiet about some things and pay attention to others; he _had to_ accept his place and do the Dark Lord’s bidding, or else his parents were as good as dead; he had to marry a pureblood witch and produce a pureblood heir. Well, he wouldn’t. He liked men. _I'm a cock sucker, father. Deal with it._ He'd wish he'd told him that to his face. But he hadn’t. Couldn’t. Maybe he was still a coward.

It had taken a War and almost his own life for him to see through this frail world built around him. Pureblood standards hadn’t saved him from an unhappy life or given him anything he really wished or cared for. And what did he care for? He didn’t even know that.  There was no place for vulnerability, his father always said. He’d believed it. He’d beat it out of his system. But in the end, he had watched Lucius pleading for his life before Voldemort. And it was nothing like he’d promised.

The first morning light was shining softly through the kitchen window, reflecting on the clean bright surfaces. He’d smoked three cigarettes in a row and his headache wasn’t going anywhere.

Draco stared at his bare arm, where the scar from the Dark Mark was now much less visible, covered by another new mark: thin black lines, united by tiny dots, following a pattern. Draco’s Constellation.

A while back, Luna had told him about this Muggle tattoo shop that Ginevra liked. Luna had a way of getting things other people didn’t. Somehow, even though Draco never mentioned his arm or the Dark Mark there, she knew that he hated it. She came up with this crazy idea of him getting a tattoo there. To remind himself that there was a life, _some life_ , after the War. He had laughed bitterly at the idea. But then she kept talking about it, and one day he found himself agreeing to go and meet the tattoo artist who specialized in covering up scars. Together with the artist and Luna, Draco agreed on the design. The constellation had been Luna’s idea. She thought that this would help him remember he was human. That there was good in him. But Luna had the most gentle of hearts. She did not know that hate was the only thing that had kept him going. He felt lost without it.

He knew that if he stopped hating Potter that would be a huge risk. He thought he could go with indifference. But he could not be indifferent to Potter. He never had been, not once in all those years of hate and bullying. And then Potter had gone and saved his life - from the fire, from Azkaban - and that made it that much more complicated. He felt terrified when he’d finally come up to Potter and apologized. It was the hardest thing he had ever done in his life.

Hate was gone. In its place an array of unknown, scary emotions had taken root, and Draco did not want to name them. Some of them he didn’t even know how to. The moment he’d stopped hating Potter he’d been thrown into unknown territory. He made all those snarky comments, because otherwise what would he say? _Be nice to Potter?_ He wasn’t even nice to himself. He was nice to Luna because she was, well, Luna. But with Potter it was like walking on a thin line above ground with your eyes closed. Opening your eyes could really help you out, but it also turned everything that much scarier.

He kept himself guarded, collected, because the minute he didn’t, things just went haywire. Things like Potter opening his mind for him to walk in and then Draco doing it too, lowering his guard, allowing Potter _in_. Things like Draco realising he could not, for the life of him, look away. Or things like… the night before. He had just gotten the tattoo that was meant to tell him he was still worth something. He wanted to believe that he could let his guard down, just for once. And when Potter’s eyes fired at him he responded.

Quite differently from what he usually did with strangers that he randomly fucked, they didn’t even talk about it beforehand. He realised later that that was what he’d probably meant to do right before Potter was all over him. The idea of having a chat about it had simply vanished from his mind and then it was too late. He wanted Potter, he’d wanted him for years now, he wanted him more than he had ever wanted anyone. But it had been a mistake.

The problem was that when Harry Potter saved the wizarding world, he also saved Draco. He had made everything possible again. This world was filled with possibilities. If he’d only reach his hand out... but he couldn't.

He kept going back to the fire in his nightmares. He’d watched Crabbe dying countless times and got used to the smell of burnt skin he always woke up to. But more often than not, Harry Potter would be there and he kept saving him from the fire, like he had done that day so many years ago. He’d never wanted to live so much as at that moment when the flames almost burned him to death and Potter lifted him into his broom.

_The world isn’t split into good people and Death Eaters, Draco…_

He remembered the weird line from his nightmare. Dream-Potter was wrong. He had to be. And he needed to stop trying to save Draco from himself. No one could save him, he knew that.

Draco had succeeded in blocking everyone out. Even his family. But now he could not block _him_ out. Harry Potter was a certainty in his life. No matter how much he tried to stay away, somehow he always ended up being drawn back again to him. Keeping the guard up at all times was taking a toll on him, it was a hard discipline for the mind. Some days it took almost _too much_ , like that same day. The day after Harry Potter had taken him in his mouth and changed everything yet again.

How long he was there, waiting for his body to cool down, he didn't know. But for all he did he could not unsee those green eyes, intense, bright, filled with life, on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... what did you think of this chapter? Draco is pretty messed up, isn't he? Well, I can only tell you it will get worse! Do you like his tattoo? :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who were waiting for more Draco-Harry action, here it is. Be warned :)
> 
> I've written this fic listening to a Drarry playlist I put together and you can listen to it here: https://open.spotify.com/user/1175318539/playlist/2q1ZlVHkke52CFxHZBMFfn

_"The riot inside keeps tryin' to visit me_  
_No matter how we try, it's too much history  
_ _Too many bad notes playin' in our symphony"_  
**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds to Mars**

‘Will you stop _gawking_ at me, Potter? I can't concentrate with you staring like that.’

Malfoy was cooking them dinner in his own kitchen. He was wearing a black apron, but it was an apron nonetheless.

At least now Harry had an actual _logical_ reason to be staring, open-mouthed and speechless, at Draco Malfoy: he was trying very hard to believe what he was seeing. And since he was failing dramatically at it, he kept staring, as Malfoy moved around a very modern stove that looked exactly like a picture taken from an interior design magazine.

Everything in the large and stylish kitchen shined bright, not to mention expensive, from the stainless steel appliances, to the marble countertops and the black wooden cabinets. There was a peninsula at the center; apparently it was the American fashion, as Malfoy explained. Harry was leaning against it, following Malfoy’s every movement as he calmly cooked them an Italian meal, mushroom _risotto_. Harry had never eaten _risotto_.

‘Er… Can I help you with anything?’ Harry asked, feeling awkward.

Malfoy did not turn from the stove as he answered.

‘No. You can sit down and fucking drink the wine. It’s a special reserve’, his tone was cold as usual, but it had a hint of something else Harry could not grasp. Malfoy  opened a drawer and took out a wooden spoon that he then used to stir the pan gently.

Harry stared at the tall elegant glass in front of him. Malfoy had served them both white wine, from an expensive-looking bottle. The wine was from some region in Italy. Malfoy apparently enjoyed drinking - imported and fancy wine - while he cooked.

Harry sat at the tall chair next to the peninsula, and tasted the wine, still unable to take his eyes off of Malfoy as he proceeded to cut fresh mushrooms. The pan on the electric stove was releasing a nice smell already. Malfoy was right, this wine was really something.

They’d arrived in London two days before. For the last few weeks they’d been investigating a series of murders in Scotland and Ireland, but they’d been called back urgently when there was a development on their biggest case. The dark wizard who was after ex-Death-Eaters had made another victim. Only this time the victim had been murdered in Azkaban. Antonin Dolohov, a Death Eater who had professed repentance for all his crimes in his trial and who was nonetheless imprisoned for life, had been murdered inside his cell, right under the nose of the Auror keeping guard at the time - who saw nothing or heard nothing until it was too late and she found the prisoner dead, inside the open cell.

That this Dark Wizard was dangerous and resourceful enough to find a way in and out of Azkaban, escape the Aurors keeping guard in turns there and murder a prisoner of the Ministry of Magic right under its nose, was something that had sent the whole Auror Department into disarray. Robards had relieved them of all their other cases and they were now working around the clock together with Ron’s team to catch this suspect once and for all.

Malfoy and Harry had arrived at the crime scene and as soon as they saw it, they knew. This murder was a clear warning and a downright challenge to the Aurors and the Ministry. If that wasn’t clear enough by itself, the killer had left them a note in Dolohov’s cell, with some sort of scribbled encrypted message. Malfoy had contacted a MACUSA cryptography specialist he knew, who was working on the decoding of the cipher. So far they had nothing. They were following their other leads, but kept arriving at dead ends. Harry was starting to feel the familiar sensation of being made to walk in circles and that meant he badly needed to do something fast.

The prospect of another ministry function that weekend didn't improve his mood at all. He had argued with Robards about this. It didn't make sense to relieve them of other cases so they could focus on this one and then make them attend a four hours function at some fancy manor. Of course Robards did not agree. ‘All the more reason to, the Ministry has to show itself strong and with their best team ready’, he’d said and admitted no further discussion.

Other than that, this case was consuming their every waking hour. They hadn’t slept for 48 hours now. Ron and Hannah Michaels, Ron’s Auror partner, had gone back to the list of potential victims and reinforced their protection. Harry had personally checked that the Malfoys were protected. He even went as far as to go to Malfoy Manor to see with his own eyes that the Auror assigned to their protection was in place. Not that he cared about sodding Lucius Malfoy. He hated the man. But he did not feel the same way towards Narcissa Malfoy.

He had kept this from Malfoy, who still acted like he didn’t care that his parents were possible targets. Draco Malfoy himself was, of course, a highly potential target, so Harry had decided he’d be the one ensuring his safety. That was why he did not even hesitate when Malfoy suggested going to his flat to review the leads they had. That way he could keep track of him.

The whole kitchen smelled delicious now. Malfoy had his back to him, and was slowly stirring the pan. If the exhaustion Harry was feeling was anything to go by, he wondered how Malfoy was still able to cook them a meal with such ease and precision.

‘You actually know how to cook…’ he heard himself say, the hint of surprise impossible to hide. ‘I thought she was exaggerating.’

‘Who?’ Malfoy was adding the risotto to the pan and started to fry it.

‘Luna. She told me.’

‘Merlin, that Ravenclaw can't keep nothing to herself,’ Malfoy said, but he didn’t sound mad. Harry thought he could sense him smiling slightly into the pan.

‘And you're not even using magic,’ he went on. It was too weird to be true. ‘I just thought you'd never cooked in your life, what with house elves to do everything for you and you being a privileged spoiled…’ Harry suddenly realised he was insulting Malfoy in his own home while he cooked for them. ‘Er... sorry,’ he muttered.

Malfoy had stopped stirring and had picked up his glass. He turned, and leaned against the counter, sipping the wine. His face was unreadable, but he had a sort of weird smile on his face. Harry’s heart skipped a beat and he hastily drank more of the savory wine.

‘No Potter, let's hear it, then,’ his eyes were surveying Harry’s. ‘Spoiled brat, unbearable prick? Yes, I was. As you said, I had never cooked a meal in my life,’ he stared at the glass and lifted his eyes. The grey in them wasn’t so cold anymore. It was actually almost… _soft_.

Harry set his own glass on the table, trying very hard to focus on anything else but those _eyes_. Malfoy was still talking.

‘When I was living in New York I found out that making things with my hands, the Muggle way, relaxes me,’ his lips stretched only just into that awkward sort of smile. ‘I use spells sometimes, see?’ as if to prove it he had the spoon mixing the rice very slowly, with a wave of his hand.

‘I see...’ said Harry slowly, unable to stop himself from smiling broadly. He was seeing a Malfoy he'd never imagined.

They stood staring at each other for some time, both sipping their wine, eyes not leaving each others’. Harry felt like he couldn’t breathe, but Malfoy was the first to look away. He picked the spoon and started mixing the rice himself again, his head tilted to one side. He was slowly adding broth to the pan. He stood there a long time, mixing very slowly and none of them spoke another word. His features were calm and collected. But not cold, Harry noticed.

 _‘Risotto_ has to be cooked very slowly, stirring all the while. It takes all of your attention to make it perfect. One minute longer, it will be overcooked. A minute less and it will be undercooked. That’s why I like it… it clears my mind of everything. No rush, just accuracy… tuning your every sense into it… letting the flavours set in… tasting it from time to time...’ his voice was so soft now that Harry felt strangely drawn to it. He stood up and came over to the stove.

The smell was amazing and he realised he was starving. They hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks. He was standing next to Malfoy, and found himself again gazing at him, shamelessly close now.

Malfoy’s whole attention appeared to be on the pan, his eyes were bright and, Harry noticed it at the same time his heart gave a violent jolt, warm. The grey eyes were warm, and Malfoy wasn’t stepping away from him. Their arms were brushing against each other and Harry felt his body lighting up.

‘Can you pass me the broth? I need to add some more.’

Malfoy’s voice was low and husky, like something was breaking underneath it and Harry could not suppress a shudder that went down his whole body.

For a crazy second he saw himself blatantly ignoring the request and turning to face Malfoy. They’d be so close that it would be impossible not to touch. He would then just lean forward slightly and he’d have Malfoy’s body pressed against his, those grey eyes burning, but still Malfoy would not back away, and Harry would take a risk, and move to bite ever so slowly on those parted lips. Malfoy would let out a barely audible gasp, muffled inside Harry’s mouth, and Harry would not be able to stop himself anymore.

Instead, he made his body follow other, safer, instructions and passed Malfoy the jar of broth set next to him on the counter. As he handed it, their fingers brushed lightly, and Harry closed his eyes, fighting the unbearable urge to do something about this _madness_. The delicious wine and this excruciating closeness to Malfoy was making him feel dizzy and he almost swayed on the spot.

How long they were there, too close, he didn’t know. It seemed like a long time. Seemingly unaware, Malfoy added a bit of spice to the pan and lifted the spoon to taste it. Harry got lost looking at his mouth, lips opening slightly. Malfoy added more spice and salt.

‘It’s ready’ he announced in that same low voice that Harry could not take anymore. His hands gripped the counter.

Only then did Malfoy move away from him, taking off his apron and getting two plates out of a black cabinet. He started to serve the dishes, and Harry was grateful he did not look at him then and even more when Malfoy picked up the plates and walked towards the door to the dining room. He was pretty sure Malfoy would notice his arousal with just one glance at him.

‘Bring the bottle,’ Malfoy threw back, without looking, and left.

Harry picked up the glasses and the bottle. They still needed to work that night, that was _why_ he was there, he reminded himself. _This is not a fucking date, Harry, stop acting like it is. You had your chance with him, it’s over._ He’d been repeating that to himself like a mantra. He took another deep breath and allowed himself another minute to cool off. Then he followed Malfoy into the dining room.

The plates were set nicely on the designer table. Malfoy was relaxing into his chair, his eyes again impassive. His shirt was eased at the neck and Harry quickly looked away and set the wine and glasses on the table. He stared at the dish, mouthwatering.

‘It's not poisoned, Potter, if that’s what you think,’ Malfoy was back to his usual sarcastic tone. ‘Also, you’re a fucking Auror and you just watched me cook it.’

Harry let out a relieved laugh, and he too relaxed into his chair. Malfoy’s tone, even though sounding oddly feigned, helped him get back to their usual interaction.

‘You wouldn’t poison me, Malfoy,’ he countered, leaning over the table to reach for his glass and smiling intently.

He watched as Malfoy’s eyes changed to stormy grey, and then a split second later back again to cold grey. It was so fast that he wondered if it had been real. He went on.

‘Who else would be putting up with you in the fucking department? You’re _stuck_ with me,’ he lifted his eyes from his glass, just to check if the usual smirk would be there. It was. He smiled even more.

They were back on safer grounds, but still he knew how to push Malfoy close to that thin invisible line that limited their actions. They both did it all the time. They kept walking closer and closer to that line, steering clear of it when they stepped on it lightly, but never again going too far away. That line had been crossed with that blow job, that was stuck inside Harry’s head ever since. They’d steered clear of it, but only _just_. This game they were playing was dangerous, but Harry had never been good at keeping out of danger. He felt drawn to it, and Malfoy had always been a challenge to him.

He tasted the _risotto_ and did not even hear the retort that came straight back at him. He had to hand it out to Malfoy, the git _really_ knew how to cook. It was fucking delicious.

 

***

Potter was asleep on his sofa.

They had been working late into the night and after hours of discussing leads and coming up short to nothing, they’d again hit another dead end.

After pacing up and down his living room like a man imprisoned, Potter had finally sat down and fallen asleep while going over their immense paperwork. Draco knew how Potter hated it when he couldn’t do anything to make their cases progress and 48 hours straight of it were taking their toll on him. He looked more exhausted than Draco had ever seen him. They both were.

Draco stood up and drank the last of the wine from his glass. They’d opened another bottle, which had probably been a mistake because alcohol did not usually help him to keep away from Potter. Still, he’d managed. It had been an excruciating night.

He should wake Potter, he’d probably want to get back to his place.

Instead he went to the kitchen, set the glass down and waved his hand at the dishwasher. The dishes started cleaning themselves. Cleaning dishes the Muggle way did _not_ relax him at all. The other thing that did not _relax_ him at all was sleeping on his couch. Unfortunately that problem would not go away with a wave of his hand.

Draco leaned against the counter and lighted a cigarette, lost in thoughts.

He wondered again how in hell he’d managed to properly cook the _risotto_ with Potter standing so close and watching him all the time. Potter had been so close that he thought he would go mad with want. He knew he’d let out more than he wanted, because no matter how well he controlled his expressions, his voice did not always comply. At some point he’d feared his barriers would not stand anymore. That’s what Potter did to him.

He’d sat across Potter for a long time, watching him sleep, sipping his wine. Only then was he able to lay his guard completely down. He realised then he was even more exhausted from the sheer effort it had took to keep his guard up that whole night.

Together with the wine, he had drunk in Potter’s features thoroughly, right down to a slight crease next to his lips. It was probably there because he always smiled so broadly and often. Potter never did things in half, did he? Now that he could just stare, unbeknownst, his eyes raked through every inch of that man, committing to memory every slight detail that he did not dare notice before. His heart started to beat faster as he sat there. He’d keep every detail enclosed on his mind, tucked out of sight. It would keep him going, like a reserve of something he could go back to when it again became unbearable to keep his barriers up.

Draco’s body still remembered every bit of that blow job. For almost an hour he had sat there, imagining that Potter would wake up, hard, and that his hand would reach Draco’s in the dark. He imagined Potter’s hand holding his own and then Potter would move their hands together over his own cock. Draco could blame the wine for it, afterwards. The important thing was that his hand was on that cock and that he’d wanted it for ages.

In the dark living room he would go down on Potter, filling his mouth with that cock he had felt against his thigh that night at the club. _Oh, he wanted a taste of it. More than a taste._ He wanted Potter to fill his mouth and shut him up just like that. His mouth would be full and Potter would let out a loud moan and roughly grab his hair and he’d let him, oh he’d let him do anything because he wanted it. He saw himself kneeling before Potter, intent on his cock, sucking and pleading for more as Potter fucked his mouth hard. Potter would swear loudly and he’d delight in it, just the sweet sound of Potter losing all control and him being the cause for it. He’d tease him to the point of despair, until Potter could take it no more and would seize his head in a tight grip and fuck him so hard his cock would hit the back of Draco’s throat and he’d almost gag for a second there, and the pain and arousal would explode inside him at the exact same moment Potter would violently fill him with his load. He’d kneel there, taking everything in, reveling in it. Until the last drop.

He smoked his cigarette, waved his hand and the dishes started drying themselves. His thoughts were so dangerous he did not dare to go back to the living room and wake Potter. He had been rock hard since Potter had fallen asleep. It had taken all his self control to cool down. After all these hours standing on edge, his body might betray him. He decided to leave Potter there and he’d try to get some sleep, well away from him.

He was walking to his bedroom when he heard a whisper.

‘Draco.’

There was nothing he could do. His whole body gave a jolt and came alive at the voice. It took all of his willpower to _not_ respond to it. Draco leaned against the wall and tried to quiet his own breathing. He stood motionless in the silent corridor, listening intently. He’d been imagining things for hours and he’d probably imagined this also. _I’m going crazy, this is madness._

‘Draco, please… Draco...’

He wasn’t imagining it. Potter was whispering his name, in a low and pleading voice. Potter had never called him by his first name and this simple fact did things to Draco’s body, things he did not want happening now. He closed his eyes, feeling lightheaded, his body heating everywhere, his breath heaving. _Will you fucking get a grip?_ he thought harshly.

‘Draco…’

Potter’s voice was filled with fear. At this, his body unfroze itself and he came bustling into the living room.

Potter was lying on the couch, hands tightly gripped into knuckles, his breathing fast and scared. He was having a nightmare. Draco stood there, not knowing what to do. Potter cried in pain. Draco leaned over and reached for his arm, softly. It was drenched in cold sweat.

‘Potter,’ he whispered. ‘Wake up. It’s just a nightmare.’

Potter woke with a start, his breathing out of control, and his hand immediately shot to his wand. In a split second he’d got up and had Draco at wandpoint, almost throwing him off  balance, his eyes opened wildly.

Draco’s heart seemed to have dislodged itself from where it was supposed to be and was beating frantically on his throat. The tip of the wand was piercing his chest. Only then did he notice that Potter’s other hand was strongly clasped on his own hand. They were so close that he could feel Potter’s breath on his lips.

‘Potter, it's me,’ he gasped. ‘It’s okay…’ Draco moved his free arm slowly up, and his hand grappled Potter’s around the wand still pointed at his chest. Potter was gripping at it so hard his knuckles were dead white. Very slowly, Draco tried to ease Potter’s fingers loose. Potter’s eyes were wider than ever, pupils dilated in fear and his mind was a roar of conflicting emotions that were threatening to overwhelm Draco, who felt them like visible objects being thrown at him. Fear, desire, adrenaline, downright panic.

‘It’s okay. You’re okay,’ he repeated, and hoped to sound reassuring.

Draco’s mind attuned itself to a single purpose. To calm Potter down. It was very hard to do that with Potter leaning so close against him, shaking with a violent combination of terror and something Draco could only name as arousal - especially when he could feel it pressing, very prominently and hard, against his thigh. He kept these notions out of his mind for the time being and started to soothe Potter’s emotions slowly, almost gently, the same way he’d done with his hand.

Comprehension finally dawned on the green eyes. Potter lowered his wand and he too seemed to notice his other hand, grasped tightly around Draco’s fingers. Then, he noticed the state of his own body. He jumped back and removed the hand as if he’d been burned.

‘Sorry,’ he said.

His voice was ragged and Draco noticed that he was shivering. He fought the sudden unknown urge to do _something_ about that. What, he did not know.

‘Sorry,’ Potter repeated, his face flushed slightly.

‘Never mind,’ Draco answered, averting his eyes.

He massaged his own hand almost absentmindedly. His skin was burning and the sensation had spread from his hand to his whole body. He picked his wand from the table and wordlessly _accioed_ a glass of water from the kitchen. He handed it to Potter, careful not to touch him again in any way. Potter thanked him silently and drank, setting the glass, with still trembling hands, on the table.

Then, Draco watched as Potter collapsed slowly on the couch. His head dropped to his hands and he sat there, looking down, steadying his breathing, his hands clasping his now even more disheveled hair, the wand still held between two fingers.

Draco did not know what to do with himself. He barely registered as he moved to the couch and sat next to Potter.

In the silent room he heard himself say.

‘So.. you still have them.’

Potter nodded once, not looking up.

‘I don't think they'll be stopping anytime soon,’ he said. His voice sounded like it was going to break.

‘Have you... have you talked to _someone_ \- a professional - about it?’ he heard again his own voice asking it, almost of it’s own accord. He felt like an hypocrite. But worse than that, even _he_ heard the hint of worry in his own tone.

Potter had lifted his head and was now glancing him, eyebrows raised. He’d heard the worry too.

‘You know, you sound just like Hermione,’ he said bluntly. He finally lowered his wand, setting it on the table before them.

‘And when exactly was the last time she wasn't right?’ Draco asked pointedly.

That rhetorical question seemed to leave Potter almost speechless. He opened and closed his mouth twice before speaking. He seemed to be picking the emotion that best suited him from a myriad of them. Draco dared not read into Potter now. He was too overwhelmed, and Potter was putting his own barriers back up again.

‘You gotta be kidding me…’ Potter whispered, apparently more to himself than Draco. He ran his hands over his hair and Draco lost his own train of thought at that. Suddenly sitting down on the couch so close to Potter seemed like the worst idea ever. Potter was looking at him, his eyes bright and intent. ‘Fine. Of course I fucking _didn't_ talk to anyone about this. _Do you?_ ’

Draco did not know how Potter had known that he had nightmares too, but nonetheless he heard himself answer him with the truth.

‘No. I don't.’

‘Well, then. There you have it,’ said Potter, his voice more steady now. ‘We’re both managing it perfectly,’ he concluded matter-of-factly, crossing his arms over his chest, his hair a black mass of confusion, strands standing in every direction, his eyes exhausted but stubborn.

There was a moment’s silence in the dark living room.

And then, just like that, they both burst out laughing. First, it was a bitter laugh, but then it grew suddenly from that and they were both struggling to stop, the laughs getting deeper and almost out of control. Draco was clutching his own chest and Potter was laughing so hard he almost fell from the couch.

As abruptly as they’d started, they stopped. It felt like a moment suspended in time. It was so weird, to laugh _with_ Potter. Like, _truly_ laugh. They stared at each other, at a loss for words. Potter was smiling broadly at him. It was so beautiful it almost hurt, the way that smile spread to and from those intense eyes, and Draco needed to look away before he got lost.

There was something he wanted to ask. He knew it would be a dangerous question but so was inviting Potter to his home, and cooking him dinner, and letting him get this close.

‘Can I?…’ he hesitated. It was nothing like him to speak before he even knew how to address the issue. But this had been a weird night, clearly. He went on, feeling Potter’s eyes on him, expectant. ‘When you were having the nightmare you... talked. You said my name,’ _And you fucking called me_ Draco _for the first time,_ this thought crept unwillingly into Draco’s mind. ‘What were you… what was happening?’

‘I… I don’t remember,’ Potter’s answer came almost immediately.

Draco did not even need to look to know it was a downright lie. He smiled to himself and looked up. Potter stared hastily at his own hands.

‘You know, if there's one thing you’re really _bad_ at is lying,’ said Draco, feeling his usual drawl back on his tone. ‘And even if you weren't, I _don't_ think you can lie to me anymore. Not unless you've picked up on your crap Occlumency skills,’ he smiled and did not look away.

Potter glanced at him for a second, seemed to think better of it and watched his own hands instead.

‘Fine. Look, I need to rest, I’m fucking exhausted,’ he got up suddenly.

It was a mistake and Draco knew it even before he spoke, but he did it anyway.  

‘You can sleep here if you want to,’ he went on hastily. ‘I have a guest room.’

 _What the fuck are you doing?!_ His own thoughts were battering him mercilessly.

Potter seemed to hesitate. His eyes were trying very hard to hide something from Draco. They were quite obviously _averting_ him. But Potter’s tone was determined when he finally answered.

‘No. I need to go. _I have to go,_ ’ he picked up his wand from the table.

Draco did not know what had gotten into him, because he never knew that those would be the next words out of his mouth.

‘Weren't you staying to keep an eye on me? To _protect_ me?’

Potter had walked to the other side of the room and froze there. He looked at Draco, bewildered. But again when he spoke he was more collected than he looked and his green eyes flashed in defiance.

‘You know, Malfoy, that was _private_. Prying inside others people's heads is actually a _crime_.’

Draco got up and walked over to him. They were standing very close now, so close that their feet almost touched.

‘Well, _sue_ _me,’_ he said, slowly, a challenge setting also in his own eyes. ‘It's not private if it's about _me_. And I wasn't prying. _You..._ shouldn't think so _loud._ ’

Potter smiled, almost to himself. The smile still spread to his eyes. That close, it took Draco’s breathing away, but Potter did not seem to notice any of it. He sighed.   
  
‘Right. I think you can _manage_ alone for one night,’ he said with finality, a slight irony in his eyes and smile.

‘Yes, I think I can,’ Draco breathed out, finding his own voice again. He felt himself smile back, for no reason whatsoever. He then had a sudden idea. ‘Wait just a moment.’

Potter looked intrigued but he waited. Draco went to the storeroom next to the kitchen, where he kept some of his home-brewed potions. He took a small vial and went back to the living room.

‘Sleeping Draught,’ he said simply, answering the question on Potter’s face. ‘I brewed it myself to make it slightly stronger than the more usual one,’ even he could not believe what he was doing, so it was no surprise the look of utmost incredulity on Potter’s face as he took the vial. ‘And no, it’s not poisoned. It doesn’t work with me anymore, guess my body has gotten too used to it by now, but it might with you. Take three drops when it gets worse,’ Draco stepped back and realised he could not face Potter anymore. He wanted him gone, he wanted to be left alone now.

‘Thank you,’ Potter voice was warm and it felt again like it was going to break.

Draco could not take this voice, he much preferred the direct steady tones of before. Or the defiance. Everything but this.

‘Goodnight. Thanks again for dinner,’ Potter said.

It looked like he was going to say something else. Or _do_ something. _Doing_ was more his thing, after all. Draco held his breath, torn between dreading it and wishing it harder than ever. Then he saw resolve setting on Potter’s features.

Potter turned on the spot. There was a loud pop as he Disapparated. A gust of wind revolved around Draco and the hint of Potter’s magic tinkled his skin like a caress. He slowly let out the breath he was holding.

‘Goodnight… Harry,’ he whispered to the empty room.

He stood there, alone, waiting for dawn. He didn’t sleep at all.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I did my job right, this chapter is going to leave you dying for more. Read at your own peril, you have been warned. :)

_"Crash, crash, burn, let it all burn_  
_This hurricane's chasing us all underground"_  
**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds to Mars**

  
Harry’s body was burning. He was gasping for air knowing nothing would be enough. His heated body wanted out, away from the elegant room packed with people all eager to meet him and _Malfoy_. Perfectly dressed Malfoy. Tall, slender, handsome Malfoy. The same Malfoy that had been positively _teasing_ him all night, grey eyes never leaving Harry, hands casually brushing against Harry’s as they stood side by side, while Robards introduced his favorite international team to foreign Ministry officials.

They were at that weekend’s Ministry function, at some big manor with majestic halls and luxurious gardens. At some point, Harry felt he’d shook hands with almost forty different people and been offered a few glasses of fancy champagne that he’d gratefully drank partly to forget he’d still be stuck there for several hours, but mainly to forget how good Malfoy looked that night. And every other night or time of day, really.

As usual, he had to give some speech at the beginning. He didn’t even remember what he said. Something about getting on with their lives and War reparations. The speeches were always the same. He felt like he was putting on a façade, urging everyone to live and seize every living moment as something precious while he, himself, felt empty. He’d tried to make Robards see that these speeches were no good, but his boss wasn’t going to let him off the hook. He hated everyone’s eyes on him as he spoke. He hated the applause at the end, and the dozens of people shaking his hand and complimenting him and treating him like an inspiration. Although he’d written those speeches (Hermione usually liked to read them after he’d finished writing and make some suggestions), he still felt like an impostor and he was sick of it.

He sometimes imagined going up there and just scream at the eager audience: _fuck the speeches, fuck this shit, fuck going on with our lives, because some of us aren’t going any-fuckin’-where. Did you know that your fucking hero is a fluke?_ He’d spit that and then he’d watch the mute faces of Ministry officials from around the world staring back at him in shock as he’d stalk out. But he knew he’d never do that.

And then, there was Malfoy, fucking with his mind over and over again. Malfoy cooking him dinner, Malfoy calming him down after a confusing dream that turned into a nightmare, Malfoy giving him a Sleeping Draught so that he could sleep better. And even if this wasn’t unnerving and weird enough, then there was also the Malfoy who stood too close to him. Who eyed him defiantly, provocatively. Who was so attuned with his mind that Harry could hardly hide anything from him anymore. He did not know what any of this meant, or why was Malfoy teasing him so blatantly. _What would you want it to mean, really? He’s just fucking with your head because he’s Malfoy, that’s what he does. He teases you just to fucking watch you lose it._ But he did know that he couldn’t be around _this_ Malfoy. So when Malfoy’s hand brushed his for the tenth time that night he quite lost it. He jumped as if he had been physically burned, and politely excused himself, leaving Robards and the Head of the International Confederation of Wizards staring back in astonishment. He felt Malfoy’s eyes trained on him all the way through the room, until he went out to the garden.

The cold night air did nothing to calm him down. At least the garden was empty. The nights were cold enough to discourage most guests from going outside. As if the world was mocking him the cold made him even more aware of his burning skin. His heartbeat was so loud he was convinced it could be clearly heard in the silent garden. He heard Malfoy’s steps starting after him but did not look back.

‘Stop following me.’

He couldn’t swear by his body if Malfoy touched him again. He had a flash of Malfoy’s panting body, pressed under his, against a tree, right there in the garden. He closed his eyes trying to shut away the vivid picture. He was slowly, but steadily losing control over his actions. Well, that control on his mind and feelings was long lost, it was more than logical that his body followed. He was surprised that he’d manage to keep this bottled up for so long.

‘What’s wrong?’

 _Everything._ He wasn’t expecting the hint of worry on Malfoy’s voice. He couldn’t even hear that voice without his body responding intensely to it. The burning sensation wasn’t going anywhere.  

‘Just leave me the fuck alone, Malfoy,’ he said harshly.

There was silence, and then he heard Malfoy’s steps retreating with no further comment. He said he wanted to be alone and Malfoy respected that. _This Malfoy does not want to fuck with your head, this Malfoy is also fucked up._ Harry didn’t know where that thought had come from but he knew it was the truth. He turned around.

‘Wait. Stay,’ he asked.

Malfoy stopped on his tracks and looked at Harry. If he thought Harry was acting weird he didn’t show it. Harry waited for the usual snarky comeback, but it never came.

Malfoy’s eyes were guarded when he walked slowly over. He took out a silver cigarette case. Harry noticed a D. M. beautifully engraved on it. With precise movements he took out a cigarette, lighted it with a non-verbal wandless spell and leaned, his back against the closest tree, smoking slowly.

Harry realised he wasn’t breathing and immediately regretted telling Malfoy to stay. The way he leaned against the tree was making his heart skip beats. Malfoy inhaled deeply, the cigarette caught between two lean fingers. Harry wished he smoked too, just to have something to do with his hands, but he didn’t like the taste of it.

He could not for the life of him look away. His eyes traced the cigarette pattern from those lips and then downwards, Malfoy’s hand dropping to his side, his other hand poised carelessly along his thigh. Harry’s body wasn’t following his instruction because he leaned on his shoulder, against the damned same tree trunk, his face close to Malfoy’s. He thought he saw something flicker suddenly in the grey eyes.

‘Why do you keep mentioning me on those speeches?’

Harry was so caught by surprise that he was unable to answer for some time.   

‘What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I mention you?’ he asked finally.

Malfoy blew the smoke through his mouth. He, too, seemed to be deciding what to say next.

‘’Cause it’s fucking nonsense,’ Malfoy blurted out, his voice strained. ‘You know what I did all those years, it feels ridiculous to mention me as some example of fucking redemption.’

Malfoy wasn’t looking at him, he was facing the empty garden around them. This close, Harry noticed that his right hand trembled slightly as he lifted the cigarette again to his mouth. He answered carefully.

‘I don't think it’s ridiculous. I meant what I said.’

He didn’t like the speeches, they showed a life he was far from having, a window to a world he wasn’t able yet to live in. But the parts where he mentioned Malfoy - his work as an Auror, capturing Dark wizards, saving his life and other’s countless times on the job, his contribution with the Malfoy fortune for the restoration of Hogwarts, his commitment to be a different wizard after the War - those made sense to him. But not to Malfoy, apparently. He went on.

‘I can't make the speeches and then don't believe any of it, can I?’ It was bad enough that he didn't believe _half_ of it. ‘For the past seven years you've been a different person. It’s almost half the time that I’ve known you, so it’s enough for me. I _trust_ that person. I couldn't work with you on a job like this and not trust you.’

The silence filled the space between them.

‘Maybe your trust is misplaced,’ Malfoy’s voice was cold, but Harry thought he could feel something breaking underneath it, like thin shattering ice, and it made him shudder. He was trying very hard now not to look at Malfoy but he knew that battle was long lost. He lifted his eyes.  

Malfoy was so still he almost looked like a statue of himself, his cigarette forgotten in his hand. He looked so frail, just standing there, his eyes as always keeping a harsh guard to his emotions.

Harry fought the immense urge to touch him. He wished he had had more to drink, that way he wouldn't think so much about the consequences of doing just that. Of letting his body take control and bring Malfoy closer. Instead he kept talking, as if his words were a sort of lifeline that would keep Malfoy close in the only possible way. He knew the minute he’d stop talking, Malfoy would turn and leave.  
  
‘Maybe. Everyone can be wrong,’ he said quietly. ‘But if we don't trust, what is there to begin with? I'm not afraid of trusting, never was,’ he could not keep himself from adding. ‘It's _you_ who has that problem. You should try it sometime.’

Malfoy tilted his head slightly, suddenly meeting his eyes.

And his face was a sight to be seen. It was as if a battle was taking place there, and there were still no winners. Harry was staring at a battleground and he had never seen eyes like that: cold, afraid, relentless, vulnerable, breaking and fighting - all at the same time. Everything was there so suddenly that he felt himself breaking apart. _Those eyes…_ He’d never be able to unsee them.

‘I’ve got no problems with the person that you are now,’ Harry heard himself say, his own voice sounding from very far away.

The battle was spreading from Malfoy’s eyes to the rest of his body. His left hand turned into a fist, his knuckles even more white now, and he took a deep drag on his cigarette. When he spoke his voice was almost a whisper, but it cut through Harry like ice.

‘But I do. I think about it every living moment of my life. And I am _disgusted_ by it, by everything I did, by everything I am still,’ Malfoy wasn’t looking away from him and Harry felt stunned to the ground. He continued, his voice cracking somewhat. ‘I thought everything was so clear, right and wrong, black and white. I could not have been more wrong. How fucked up is that? I’m not far from the fucking bully and  coward I was.’

Harry did not know what to say. He’d never heard Malfoy being so blunt, or even speaking so much about himself. He suddenly felt terrified, like he was holding something heavy and precious on his hands and one moment’s disattention and he could drop and break it. _Malfoy is fucked up too..._

‘I think you’ve come a long way from that,’ he said as steadily as he could.

Malfoy stared at him sideways, and then he faced forwards again, as if he dared not look too much at Harry. Those eyes reminded Harry of that Malfoy, by the lake, so many years ago. The fight wasn’t over. It was inside him ever since. It was a battle to death, Harry now knew. Malfoy was barely holding up at the surface. There were so many things Harry wanted to tell him just now that he could not pick one to begin with.

But then, very slowly, Malfoy turned his face towards Harry’s, so that now they were facing each other. All the barriers he’d carefully built were down and Harry could not breathe, could not even think. He felt like he was plunging inside a sea of cold sorrow. Malfoy was desperate and his voice sounded loud in the quiet garden, and again he asked something Harry did not expect.

‘Why do you keep saving me, Potter? Why? I know we work together now, but why _before_ ? Why did you save me that night? You knew _what_ I was. We hated each other’s guts for seven fucking years. I was trying to bring you to _him_ , I was desperate to save _them_ , my... ‘ the next word seemed stuck in his throat but he still fought it out. ‘... my parents. I wasn't thinking, then. I only saw the end of it, and every means necessary and I was so…’ his voice faltered for a moment. The next words were forced out of him with pained effort. ‘ _I was so wrong_. Why did you do it? I should have died that night.’

Malfoy stood there looking breathless. Harry’s mind was racing. He’d suddenly remembered something Dumbledore had told him so many years ago. Something about a bond forming when a wizard saves another wizard’s life. It was deep and powerful magic, Dumbledore had said so. He and Malfoy had been saving each other’s lives on the job for years now, but it all had started during the War, still. He did not need to think any longer. He’d known the answer for so long.

‘Because… I couldn’t leave you behind. Ron nagged me about this for a long time. It’s about something Sirius told me: _the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters_. We've all got both light and dark inside us.’

Malfoy appeared to be frozen on the spot, his eyes wider than ever, his lips parted like he was so overwhelmed he couldn’t even speak. Harry seized that moment to keep going, fighting against the sea of desperation, his voice growing steadier somehow.

‘I need to believe this is true, and I needed to believe it then - especially for _me_. I _know_ about family. I understand where you come from, I understand why you did it, even though I don't agree with _how_ you did it. I would do anything to protect my parents if I could, as they protected me. And I would do anything now to protect Ron, Hermione, Ginny... they're my family. I’d do anything in my power to protect all the people that I love. So I get it.’

‘It doesn't excuse what I did,’ Malfoy replied, regret in his every word. ‘And how I behaved for years.’

‘No it doesn't,’ Harry said, in a low voice. ‘But you know what else it does? It tells you that you're human. And people change. And do shitty stuff. A wise man once said to me that it is our choices that make us who we are. You are not the same person anymore. I think you… you try to hide it so much, you try to pretend but I see it clearly. The Malfoy I knew would never tell _me_ he’s sorry. The Malfoy I knew would not be having this conversation. The War _changed_ you. You are not the same bully from school, because you _chose_ not to be. And that's what makes all the difference. So don’t say you should have died that day... You’re still here.’

He could sense the desperation receding slowly. Malfoy could not speak. Harry stared at him. His eyes were the colour of an ashen grey sky before heavy rain, his face pale in the moonlight. Harry kept going, because there was something else he’d wanted to know for many years and now it was finally the time.  

‘Why didn't you tell her it was me at Malfoy Manor? You _knew_ it was me, but you refused to tell them.’

The question had come out of the blue, but he knew they both remembered it too well. Maybe, after all, that powerful bond had started on that night, at Malfoy Manor. The clouded grey eyes turned to a leaden tone and then to rain. There was a surge of such unnamed emotion on those eyes, usually so impassive, that Harry felt his skin prickling, heating and his heart rate fastened. He waited, not daring to breathe.

Malfoy’s voice was a thin thread of sound, tracing the slight space between them.

‘I wanted you to win. I wanted him dead. You did not _deserve_ to die. He killed so many that did not deserve to die. You had to live. You were our only hope.’

They were standing so close, Harry could feel the tension on Malfoy’s body as he spoke. They hadn’t stopped looking right at each other’s eyes. Harry breathed out and felt himself get lost in those eyes. He tried hard to get back to his train of thought.

‘So you see,’ his voice sounded hoarse. ‘What matters is what you choose to do. You chose that night. And although you did make very bad decisions before, you’ve been choosing differently ever since.’

Malfoy was staring mutely at him. Harry sensed him trying in vain to reign his emotions in, but he couldn’t anymore. They were bursting free of his control. His breathing was uneven… and Harry kept talking. He’d been meaning to say something else for a long time.

‘That's _why_ you went into Auror training, instead of just coming into your inheritance. That's why you work so hard, saving people. That's why you can't really hate me now. And I... don't hate you. And even if you do make some bad decisions again, what about it? I'm not the perfect wizard they all want me to be. I'm as fucked up as you are. We all make bad decisions. I've been making some of my own. We try, we fail, we fail better next time. What matters is what we learn and that we start over and try differently.’

There. He’d finally said it. A sense of relief rushed through him.

Malfoy was, impossibly, _smiling_. _At him_. It was the first time Harry had seen him smile like that. Openly, truly, no barriers up. He suddenly ran out of words. Malfoy chuckled. It was a bright, short laugh and the grey eyes flickered with a nameless warm emotion.

‘Never thought I’d say this but you’re really getting better at words, Potter. Must be all the speeches, they're turning your head,’ his smile broadened even more and Harry felt himself blush. His mind was providing him with so many things he could not utter now. He laughed nervously.

‘I still think you’re a prick,’ he added nervously just to have something to say.

That made Malfoy laugh even more. He shifted his body, and was now leaning on his shoulder, like Harry, against the tree, and there was barely an inch of space between them. Malfoy took out another cigarette but it seemed more like a force of habit because he did not light it. Harry was suspended on his every movement.

‘That’s reassuring,’ he said, still smiling. ‘You know… we all have some ritual. For coping after the War. The years went by, but some of us are still there. _I am_ still there. But I’m not there alone, am I?’ he paused and looked intently into Harry’s eyes. ‘ _You_ are still there too.’

His first impulse was denying it but what would be the point? They both _knew_ it. Malfoy was looking at the cigarette in his hand and he finally lighted it silently.

‘Muggles say these things kill. I’m probably killing myself slowly,’ he laughed bitterly.

Harry stared at Malfoy’s hand. He still didn’t know what to say. Wasn’t he drinking himself to death every now and then? Jumping in front of curses that could kill him?

‘I’ve not had a single sane thought since that lunatic came back. You got us ridden of him, but I’m still deranged. Funny, isn’t it?’ his voice was bitter. ‘I keep wondering… I’ve wondered for years… how much _worse_ it must be for _you,_ ’ Malfoy lifted his eyes and Harry wasn’t ready for the worry and _empathy_ in them.

He wanted to laugh. Sanity. He never really thought about it. That was why he _did_ things. He tried to be as busy as it was humanly possible with Auror work, never an idle moment in sight. Because he could not bear to think on it. He didn’t know sanity. His whole life had had a purpose and that purpose was fulfilled. He’d never stopped to wonder: _what now?_ Because he knew if he did, it would be the end of it. He wouldn’t snap out of it. So he just didn’t think about it. He kept working. He kept saving people and solving mysteries, that was what he did best. He got blasted. And battered. And drunk. He gave speeches, he attended every function, his name was added to every fucking charity. He had recently put his first snitch - the one left to him on Dumbledore’s will and that had helped him in the end - on an auction for charity. It was now a famous collectors’ item that would be costing a fortune, and thus helping an orphanage get a knew home for the children. He was there when his family needed him: Ron, Hermione, Ginny. He did _everything_ that was expected of him. He did not know what was _left_ of him after that. Nothing much, he was finding out. He stared silently at Malfoy. He could not speak his mind to him. He still wasn’t able.

‘So, what does it for you? The ritual, I mean,’ Malfoy was looking intently at him.

Harry blushed, he could not avoid it, but heard himself answering nonetheless.

‘Well… fucking, I suppose,’ he shifted against the tree, nervous. ‘Men, women. Any gender, really. Ginny told me my practices are… what was the name?… Pansexual. But I really don’t care for the label,’ he stared at his own hands. ‘So… yeah there you have it, my strategy,’ he could not look at Malfoy now, but heard him let out a spontaneous laugh.

He felt Malfoy turning to face him. They were face to face, and Harry could not help but look up again. The grey eyes were _warm_ and impossible to avoid.

‘Ah… such a cliché, Potter,’ Malfoy’s laugh was rough and Harry immediately felt his body responding to it. His cock twitched inside his pants. Malfoy would be sure to notice his arousal, since they were mere inches apart. ‘And how’s that working for you?’

‘Not too well,’ he admitted, feeling flushed.

Malfoy was too close. Too close to breathe, too close to not burn on Harry’s skin. And he was no longer self-assured, it seemed. Malfoy was suddenly _hesitant_ , his eyes searching Harry’s for something there.

‘Do you… in all that pansexuality… one might say... have any… preferences? A preferred type maybe?’

Malfoy’s breath was again uneven and his voice shook. As Harry noticed that, he decided something. It was too late to back down. He’d answer with the truth.

‘Actually, I do.’

They were both too close. Malfoy had stopped breathing and Harry leaned forward. He spoke slowly, his breath touching Malfoy’s parted lips. He could have drowned in those intense grey eyes, bared before him.

‘I like lots of different bodies and people, mind you. But lately I…’ he still could  not tell him that that lately was years now. ‘I've been going for tall, blond…’ he could not take it anymore. ‘You’re _it_. You’re my type.’

And just like that, the something that had been stirring quietly in Malfoy’s eyes caught fire and burned through Harry, making him alive everywhere.

His hand lifted of its own accord and touched Malfoy’s face, softly, and Malfoy leaned into Harry’s touch like he’d wanted nothing else, his grey eyes burning with want and need. It was so clear now. Malfoy _wanted_ him.

Harry’s hand was on Malfoy’s neck, pulling their bodies closer together. Malfoy let the cigarette fall forgotten to the ground and grabbed Harry’s robes.

The whole world was so quiet he could hear Malfoy’s uneven breathing go faster and faster. Malfoy bit his own lip and the sight sent Harry a jolt down the whole of his body. His cock was hurting inside his pants. Harry felt Malfoy’s hardness against his own and it was more than he could bear. He summoned all of his self control to his voice.

‘I want to kiss you… If you don’t want it, I’ll stop right now.’

‘I don’t want you to stop… please… don’t stop,’ he inhaled Malfoy’s pleading more than he heard it.

And just like that, their lips brushed lightly, and Malfoy was kissing _him_. And this kiss was nothing like that first, rushed and drunk. This was slow and maddening.

Harry felt Malfoy’s tongue licking his lips at a slow pace, and then entering his mouth, teasing him slowly and opening him up, softly and then demanding, need bursting free at the touch of their tongues.

Malfoy grabbed his hair and Harry’s hands gripped Malfoy’s arse with such force that their erections pressed together and he cried into Malfoy’s open mouth. Malfoy’s tongue was fucking into him, and he responded, while someone was groaning and panting loudly inside him and he could not believe it was Malfoy making those sounds.

He was unable to think, as he drove his hands all over the body he’d been dreaming of and filled that mouth with his tongue, breathing in the scent of Malfoy - apples, rain - all over and around him. They bit at each other’s lips and Malfoy’s hands were not leaving his hair, pulling to the point of pain, drawing him more and more inside his own mouth like he couldn’t and _wouldn’t_ have enough of it.

Malfoy moaned weakly, and the sweet sound of it sent Harry to a breaking point on his will and self control. So he did the only thing he always did. Something really brave. And really stupid.

‘I want to fuck you,’ he said, breathlessly, against Malfoy’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you thought please! This was one of my fav chapters to write, also the one that took most editing and perfecting 'cause it's quite central for their relationship from this point on. Comments and kudos are very welcome!


	12. Chapter 12

_"Do you really want me dead_  
_Or alive to torture for my sins?"  
_ **Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds to Mars**

Draco closed his eyes, his whole body swaying on the spot. Then he opened them. Their lips were almost touching but they weren’t kissing now. He wasn’t able to stop himself from shaking at the the tone of helpless want on Potter’s voice. It couldn’t be real. It was like that voice was already _fucking_ him. Stripping him, baring him, slowly, everywhere. He heard himself speak from very far away.

‘Are you saying that as part of your coping strategy?’ he asked, with a thin voice, even though he already knew the answer.

Potter’s hands were warm on either side of his face, caressing him and his eyes were almost blinding Draco. The green flashed intensely as he answered, again in that same low hoarse voice that was making Draco collapse bit by bit.

‘No. I’m not. It’s not a strategy. Damn it, you _know_ it’s not. I can’t stop thinking about you. I want you,’ he hesitated for a second, then went on. ‘And you… you want me too.’

That voice was _shattering_ him. Draco gripped hard at Potter’s robes, feeling the world around him shift wildly, his heart on his throat.

Everything on his body was drawing impossibly closer to Potter. He could feel that heat drawing him in, those eyes drawing him in, that impossible hot, toned and hard body wanting him. He’d never wanted anyone so much and the impossibility of it was driving him mad.

Potter’s every thought was screaming with want for him and a wave of panic was building steadily inside Draco and taking over. They weren’t moving, nor doing anything else, but Potter was _breaking_ him apart. Potter had been breaking him apart for years now and this was the tipping point. He could not take it, even though his body wanted nothing more than to finally _give into it_ and stop this thundering madness. The wave of panic rose inside him and engulfed his every other emotion.

Potter’s eyes were so gentle and worried that he thought, for a crazy moment, he was going to cry and collapse right there. He needed to be away from this voice that teared his every wall down. From Potter. From this man that was everything he wanted. He needed to get away.

‘You’re fucking drunk, Potter,’ he wished his voice sounded controlled but he knew it didn’t. It broke.

Through the haze of panic overflowing him, he ordered his body to step away. His legs were stiff with tension but he made them move.

He stepped back, unlatched himself from Potter’s hands and tried to regain control of his movements. The sudden absence of warmth left him chilled to the bone. The cold would help him. Would make him see clearer. _Steady. Steady, don’t lean, don’t come closer to him. Don’t touch him_. _Don’t_ look _at him._

But he did. The green eyes were wide, hurt and confused, still screaming with intense want and Draco felt something shatter inside him. It hurt so much that he clutched his chest, but the cold was helping him to put some barriers up again, and there they were, reliable as ever.

He heard himself speak, this time it even sounded like his own voice. Cold, impassive, uninterested. But it took too much effort.

‘I’m tired, I’m going home.’

‘Wait, please…’ Potter’s hand was on his wrist.

Draco marvelled at the grip and the spark of sensation it sent all through his spine, down to his crotch. Warmth. He wanted nothing more than the promise of warmth from Potter’s body. He needed to leave now or this was going to turn into the biggest mistake of his life.

Draco Malfoy was a man slowly losing his mind. Being around Harry Potter was becoming excruciating. They could not have another one of those nights. He could not let Potter drop to his knees for him again and he could not imagine himself giving in to it and wanting it so much that his every nerve was at the point of breaking him. Every part of his body was aching from the proximity and the sensation was so overwhelming that he pursed his lips more tightly than ever. His lips started to turn white, flattened into a line that was the last threshold he held against Potter. If he opened them again, there would be no turning back.

It was utterly useless. He was crashing. He was crashing into Harry Potter like he was on route of collision and couldn’t change directions.

So he did what he always did. He ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, don't kill me and don't hate me! I promise it will get better! And next chapter is much longer than this one, I'll post it soon!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is bigger than the other ones. Get ready to dive into Harry's mind :) Hope you like it! Let me know what you think, what you like, what you *don't* like.

_"OK, I'm runnin' from the light,  
runnin' from the day to night"_

**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds to Mars**

  
Harry had a knack for choosing precisely the type of thing that was worse for him.

He’d been aware of this for quite some time now. The War wasn’t to be solely blamed for it. Actually his whole life he had tended to make some decisions that had gotten him precisely on the hardest possible path. He never went for easy and simple and he’d banged his head several times. That wasn’t all bad, as Ginny had once pointed out to him. It meant he learned something new every time and took those lessons with him for the next round or the next change in his life.

And he’d made some changes along the years. He and Ginny had broken up some months into their last year at Hogwarts. They usually did not refer to it as breaking up because it was more of a transition. The relationship was no longer romantic ou sexual, but Ginny was family and they cared for each other deeply, so they decided to stay in each others’ lives in an intimate way.

She was a vital part of his life, still, and they shared almost everything that went on in their lives. Whenever she was in England, they got together and spent hour after hour, often until sunrise, just talking and sharing worries, experiences, doubts. It was in those long conversations that Ginny told him first about polyamory and the way she’d chosen to live her relationships. She was seeing Luna and Neville, for some years now. The three of them were in a committed loving relationship. It was weird at first when Ginny told him what it was all about. Now Harry just thought that it made perfect sense. His first reaction had been worry, because he thought that that meant someone would be cheating on the others. But it wasn’t cheating because no one was lying or going behind others backs. It was all out in the open, and all of them were free to have other romantic, sexual or intimate relationships. As a professional Quidditch player, Ginny travelled a lot and currently she also a had sexual relationship with a Muggle woman from Ireland. Her name was Eilish, she had short ginger hair and smiled a lot - Ginny had showed Harry some pictures with them both grinning at the camera.

It was also Ginny who helped him understand many important things about himself. She always managed to squeeze Harry in on her busy schedule. He was now slightly dreading the moment she’d be back again, because things with Malfoy had gotten to a point where he’d have to plainly lie not to reveal anything to her. And she’d probably guess it all, anyways, because for years now she’d been prodding him for information on that specific matter and had spotted Harry’s blatant attraction towards Malfoy even before Harry himself was aware of it.

It had been Ginny who'd helped him realise he also liked men. It was only long after the War that he’d allowed himself to even _think_ on it. It had been way too easy to ignore it before, what with a lunatic after his blood for years and him having more pressing issues to solve. Then it sort of just became a habit - the not thinking about it part. Finally, it was Ginny who brought the issue plainly into sight.

‘Harry, do you like men?’ she’d asked him bluntly one night. They were sitting on a park bench, late into dawn, after going out to three different bars. Ginny had been drinking from a bottle of brandy and handed it to Harry, who took a great sip. ‘It’s okay… you can tell me.’

He was drunk and, still, he denied it. Some part of him did not want to be different again. He was _already_ fucking Harry Potter, he did not need to be part of a minority on top of that. But then the idea just decided to sink in of it’s own accord. Once it was stuck there, and spoken out loud in the open by someone who knew him so well, Harry knew he could no longer ignore it. He did not linger much on it. It didn’t seem like such a big deal. He liked men, he liked women and he also kinda liked everything in between that. He actually did not care for the genitals people might have. As long as he was attracted, he didn't really care for gender or sex. What he did care was for sharing that sexual moment with someone. And then, maybe because it was easier, he started going mainly for men he met at bars and life was again simple and immediate. Hermione and Ron did not even blink when he told them. They both knew him too well to be surprised at all.

Relationships that went beyond fucking, those were slightly more problematic. He had started to believe he was probably too broken to have _any_ relationship. Even his friends... sometimes he did not even knew _why_ they were still there for him. He only knew how to protect people or save them from immediate danger. He still could protect them in his Auror work. But other than that he didn’t feel like he had much to offer.

With Ginny it had been like that. He had once been in love with her. Ginny had loved him in a time where he did not even know if he was going to make it out alive to the next day. When the War was over, they were still dating, but he realised Ginny did not need saving. Actually, when he stopped to think about it, she’d never again needed saving since she was eleven. Ginny wanted him to be an equal partner, someone not invested in saving but in loving and caring and giving freely and he wasn't ready to do that. He felt like he had nothing more to give.

He had found a pattern in his connections. He seemed to go for the types of people who might be in trouble and in need of help. With men, it was the same. When he’d start to fall for someone, it was usually that type of person. Then the blond trend had come up. He’d fall for unapproachable tall blond blokes until it became clear he had a preference - or a problem. Draco Malfoy was the name of his problem, really.

He had been denying this attraction for years now. It had probably started years ago, even though he could not pinpoint when. It had become something that he always carried with him, like a certainty. But now it was worse than ever, because Draco Malfoy had kissed him like he was dying to do it and then left with no explanation. Again. And that only proved that Harry kept making bad decisions.

He had gone for a hard, stress-filled job, capturing Dark wizards - as if he needed more of that in his life. The very same job his friends - _and fucking Malfoy_ \- believed was killing him slowly. On top of that, he was undeniably pulled towards a man that kept shutting him down and hopelessly denying them both any way out of it. He was tired of the games they kept playing, tired of watching Malfoy falling apart on his hands and then watch him rebuild those walls again, like cold hard steel. Until they melted all over again on their next slip.  

He needed to get it out of his system but it was becoming near to impossible not to be around the git since they worked together around the clock. And Malfoy was around on his free time too because everyone of his friends seemed to invite him to whatever plans they’d make together.

Quidditch on Sundays? Malfoy was there, on the invite of none other than Ron Weasley. Saturday night dinners at Hermione’s and Ron’s? He’d started to go to those too for some years now. Afternoon tea with Luna? She and Malfoy were the weirdest sort of best friends. Field trip weekends with the trio, Neville, Ginny and Luna? Malfoy was the last person in the world Harry would expect to go camping, but there he was, stylishly dressed, his sophisticated tent obviously the last model on wizarding tents.

It got particularly difficult when he started seeing things in Malfoy that he’d never noticed before, like the way he’d throw his head back laughing at Ginny’s jokes, his laugh hard and intense, his hands gripping the table and his eyes on the verge of tears. Or the way he discussed alchemy with Hermione over a glass of wine, after dinner. They got so enthralled on those nights, that Ron and Harry all but gave up to be included in the conversation. They usually ended up playing wizard’s chess, but Harry kept losing to Ron not only because his friend was better at it, but also because he could not focus. Harry did not enjoy alchemy in the least, but he couldn’t care less because there was nothing like watching someone talk passionately about something they loved. Malfoy’s eyes shone bright, his lean hands gestured excitedly and he and Hermione usually ended up surrounded by books all over the dinner table, drinking and planning for world domination - for all he could pick up of the conversation.

Quidditch, twice a month with an assorted team picked by Ron, was by far the worst of it, for Harry could not ignore how fit Malfoy’s body really was. They’d play seeker against each other and naturally all their Hogwarts rivalry came back. They’d try to distract each other, throwing insults and provocations across the pitch, racing each other and ending up at each other’s throats more often than not. It did say something about Harry’s knack for it that he still got the snitch by the end of it.

Ron was quite happy with their hobby Quidditch plays, but that was before they’d both be so obsessed about their own competitive thing that they’d all but forget about the snitch. One of those times they’d raced each other for no reason whatsoever - there was no sight of the snitch, and they weren’t even trying a feint - and ended up on the ground. Malfoy was sprawled right under him. Adrenaline was still racing through Harry’s system when he realised he was hard and pressing against Malfoy’s legs, their lips just inches away, their breathing out of control. Malfoy’s eyes were turning dark, his cheeks flushed from flying and he licked his lips, slowly, his tongue darting out and making Harry’s mouth go dry. None of them was aware of the snitch hovering two inches above their heads. The moment was cut off by an enraged Ron who called like a maniac for a non-existent seeker’s replacement. Of course, none of them discussed this later and Ron fumed for weeks.

So the only way for him to not see Malfoy - mounted on a broom, fighting him fiercely for the snitch he usually did not catch; heating his hands on a tea mug, his eyes the colour of a stormy sky, a strand of hair falling over one side of his face; lying on the grass in the sun, his long legs crossed and an arm thrown carelessly over his face; or lying breathless under him, lips parted - was to shut himself alone at Grimmauld Place. Unfortunately, that didn't stop him from thinking about Malfoy even more, imagining what he was doing and even - he must be crazy - thinking about flooing him, or asking him _on a date_.

‘Harry James Potter, you have had a bit of crazy in your life, but now you are out of your bloody mind,’ he muttered to himself.

Miserably, he tried to imagine how it would be if he _actually_ invited Malfoy on a date. First he could not even picture it. Malfoy on a date? Really? Then, his mind provided him with multiple scenarios that he dismissed, one by one. Malfoy did not date. Even he, Harry, hadn’t dated in years. He remembered a man he was into, during his Auror training, and a very weird failed date. That was as far as his date experience went of late. If he asked Malfoy out he’d probably be mocked for the rest of his life. If Malfoy even took him seriously, which probably he wouldn’t. Or even if he did he’d probably go and kiss Harry senseless again and then just leave him to deal with the mess. Harry much preferred to face a dragon or two, thank you very much.

He was still convinced he had better chances against a dragon than with Malfoy when Christmas came closer and he found himself having tea with a very dreamy-eyed Luna. Somehow the conversation had gone from Christmas shopping and the weekend he’d be spending at Hermione and Ron’s, to Draco Malfoy.

Without almost realising it, Harry had spilled everything out to Luna, from his secret attraction, to the night at the club and finally to their kiss at the function. In the weeks that had followed, Malfoy had become increasingly cold around him, not even looking his way as they spent hours working together in the same office.

‘Does he still hate me that much?’ he asked.

It was so easy to confide in Luna. She always had some insight, even if unexpected or weirdly put. Luna smiled at him, patiently, stirring her tea with her finger, even though she had a teaspoon in front of her. Harry’s tea had gone cold, he did not touch it.

‘No Harry, I don’t think he hates you at all, you see.’

 _No, I don’t_ , he thought.

‘It’s like Nargles. You know they’re there but you would never admit it, would you? Draco is like that,’ Luna smiled at him like what she just said was an obvious thing.

Harry stared at her. That would have to be the weirdest thing Luna had ever told him, and that was definitely something.

‘Malfoy... is like Nargles,’ he repeated slowly, feeling puzzled. _I cannot believe I just said that._

As usual, Luna did not look troubled by the effect her words caused on others. She was checking under her teacup (probably for the presence of Nargles?) with the utmost attention.

‘He has spent so much time hiding what’s good in him that he just doesn’t know what to do with it. But with you it’s somehow harder for him,’ Luna was now looking at her teaspoon upside down, turning it from side to side, the light from the windows sparking rainbows on it.

Harry was suspended onto her every word. After all, she was probably the one person who knew Malfoy best.

‘He kinda…’ Harry knew he was blushing like a teenager, but he didn’t care. ‘He messes me up. I don't know what else to do.’

Luna smiled gently at him.

‘Oh Harry... you'll do what you always do. Something really brave,’ Luna dropped the spoon on the table and looked at Harry, her eyes focused and clearer than he ever had seen them. ‘You two have quite a history and you’re both still haunted by it. I think he’s afraid that if he lets his guard down around you he’s going to be faced with that good side of him and he’s terrified of it. That’s why he keeps putting all those walls. But they won’t stand.’

‘They seemed to be holding in place just fine,’ he muttered resentfully.

He was remembering very vividly the moment where, after that maddening kiss, Malfoy had turned his back on him and left. And the way he’d known that it would be no use mentioning any of it on the next day because Malfoy would again pretend it was nothing and Harry could not take that cold tone anymore, the same one that had said “it was just a blow job”.

Luna was still looking very serious - something that was indeed odd in her.

‘No Harry, you see, his walls have been crumbling down ever since he got closer to you. He’s seen something in you and now he can’t look away. And you are making him see something in himself that he’s not yet ready to see. And when he does face it you’ll be able to get in, only to find that you’ve been there all along.’

‘What?’ he blurted out. He was thankful that he wasn’t drinking any tea because he’d probably have spitted it out. ‘Did he tell you that? What do you mean?’ his heart was beating fast.

But Luna was looking over at the counter, suddenly distracted.

‘Is that ice cream?’

Harry knew that it would be useless to ask again so he went to fetch them ice cream. Having ice cream right in the middle of winter was not even remotely weirder than what Luna had just told him.

He didn’t know about brave. But he surely knew about crazy. He was ready to willingly check himself at St. Mungo's when Christmas came closer and he found himself staring at a Muggle shop window where a man’s very expensive cashmere sweater was being showcased. It was Slytherin green and perfect. He didn’t even realise he was standing there for quite some time until Hermione nudged him on the ribs.

‘I think he’ll like it. Cashmere is very fancy.’

He felt his cheeks burning and knew it was too late to pretend. After all that was Hermione and she knew him all too well and she also knew that he wouldn’t be looking at that type of clothing for himself.

‘I dunno…’ he was feeling nervous. There were a million reasons for this gift idea to be a huge mistake.

‘C’mmon, Harry,’ Hermione said simply, and she all but walked him inside the shop.

They came out of the shop some time later. Hermione had bought something for Ron, too, and Harry was still trying to decide if that made him feel supported or even more panicky. He was awkwardly holding the fancy wrapped package slightly away from himself, like it was going to explode any minute.

‘You look like you're going to be sick,’ said Hermione, looking at him with slight amusement.

Well, that was an accurate description. He _felt_ sick. His mind was going over and and over the same obsessive thought: _what the hell am I doing?_

‘I dunno if this is such a good idea,’ he told Hermione. Nothing that started with giving Malfoy a Christmas present sounded _sane_. He seriously hoped this was the brave thing Luna mentioned, because he would be clearly done for after that stunt.  

‘You’ll never know if you don’t try,’ Hermione was telling him. She smiled encouragingly, and they kept walking, narrowly avoiding people with presents and bags on either side of them. ‘You’ll be able to give it to him at our home.’

 _‘What?’_ he was so shocked that he stopped on his tracks and a man holding several shopping bags knocked over him. He excused himself, hastily helping the disgruntled man to pick his bags up and then he stood staring at Hermione. _‘What did you just say?’_

Hermione had a funny look on her face that said that she knew he had heard her plainly but she was going to explain it further just to humour him.

‘Draco was spending Christmas Day alone again, so we decided to invite him over this year. And he said yes. So it will be the four of us.’

‘So it's _Draco_ now?’ he could not stop himself.

‘Harry, please,’ said Hermione, with all the look of someone who was bored out of her mind for having to explain something so obvious. ‘Just because you two need to keep acting like sworn enemies, even though you went down on each other some months ago and you’ve been keeping eye fucking everywhere for years, doesn't mean the rest of us have to act like we don't know each other.’

‘You... what?!’ Harry was gawking at her. Of course she knew. He felt really stupid now. He could not think of anything else to add.

Hermione, on the other hand, appeared to have much to say.

‘Well, you can't expect me to pretend I'm not seeing it, now can you? It’s pretty obvious,’ at that Hermione pointedly looked at the wrapped package on his hands. He suddenly wished the package would vanish into smoke. ‘It's not like you two are doing a great job at hiding it. Anyway, me and Ron decided to invite him.’

‘You and Ron... _Ron agreed to this?!’_

Hermione looked bored and slightly hurt.

‘Really, Harry, do you think we’re clueless? I’ve been hoping you’d come up and just tell us, but seeing as you don’t or won’t…’

‘It’s not that, Hermione…’ he now felt really embarrassed. He shared almost everything with her, she’d been through a whole War with him, but apparently _this_ he could not confide. It had become his unintended secret.

‘I know, Harry,’ she said simply. ‘You’re not even admitting it to yourself, how could you admit it to me? But it’s been years. I know. Ron knows. _Everyone_ knows. Except you two. Let me just say that, for Aurors, you two can be quite thick headed sometimes,’ Hermione smiled at him, but she still looked worried.

‘I… you’re right. I’m attracted to him. I’ve been, for years now. And we… kissed and I went down on him. The blond trend… you’re right about that too,’ he hastily added. ‘Actually, you’re probably right about everything,’ he looked hopelessly at Hermione.  
  
She came forward and then she was hugging him. It was hard to do that with the both of them holding several shopping bags and the package dangling from his hand, but they just stood like that for a while. They broke apart and Hermione spoke again, her free hand caressing his face.

‘Harry, I don’t want to be right. I just don’t want to see you like this, keeping everything bottled up, because that’s not you. If you keep that up you’ll explode eventually.’

He sighed. He held her hand on his and kissed it gently. They started walking down the street again.

‘I know... I just… it’s Malfoy. I can't take these games we play any more.’

‘Have you talked to him?’

He let out a bitter laugh and it was his turn to raise an eyebrow at her.

‘ _Have you met Draco Malfoy?_ You gotta be kidding me. Malfoy _doesn't_ talk _feelings_. He refuses to have them, or when that doesn’t work out and he _does_ have them, he proceeds to beat them out of his system. He fucks or gets fucked and then leaves. He kisses you like he’s going to die if he doesn’t and then he leaves. It's nothing to him and it should be nothing to me too,’ he had spoken very fast. It was easier to let it all out like that.

‘It's never nothing to you, Harry. Even when you’re just shagging, you still care. Even when you don’t remember their names, you’d care if they ever needed anything. If you didn't, you wouldn't be _you_. And Draco has been in your life for years. He’s your partner at work. He’s always around… I mean, he's probably the person you're spending most of your time with.’

‘I know.’

He did not know why he had avoided this conversation for so long. Hermione always knew what to say, she knew him so well. He suddenly felt very grateful to have her in his life. He smiled at her.

‘Thank you...‘

She smiled brightly and held his hand.

‘You know… you never did tell me _why_ you chose to work with him. I do have some theories of my own, mind you...’,

‘Of course you do,’ he laughed.

‘I kept thinking that it must have been _you_ , because this new Draco would never believe you'd work with someone like _him_. He must have waited for you to say no and then he would leave. But _something_ made you say yes against all probability. And it caught him off guard. And whenever you challenge him he can’t keep himself from stepping up to it, so he said yes, even though he’d never expected that outcome. But it was _you_ who started it. So if you want to share your thoughts on that…’

Harry stared at her. After all those years he still felt amazed. Hermione was as always way too perceptive for his denials. He smiled faintly.

‘He said he was sorry for everything. That last day at Hogwarts. I never even answered him. I just... I wanted to say that I accept his apology. That I believe War can change us. That there's more than good and evil. And I’ve finally told him _that_. I’ve been meaning to say it all along. And now he’s even farther away than before,’ he sighed heavily. He could not look at Hermione just now.

‘Oh Harry.. That's what I thought. You don't need to say anything more, your actions speak loudly,’ Hermione was still holding his hand and brushed it lightly to give him some comfort.

‘You know, Ginny wouldn't agree with you. She keeps telling me we should always speak our minds because people are capable of interpreting things in a million different ways. I don't think he knows it, even though I told him. I think he does not believe he deserves _anything_ to begin with.’

‘But you don't believe that,’ said Hermione and then she came to a halt suddenly. She had that smile on her face, the one that always came up when she was on the verge of something big. The one she had when she knew she was right about something really important. Harry knew that look all too well. ‘You…’ she pressed her hands on her mouth. Her smile was broadening behind her hands. ‘It can't be. Oh. Oh. But it is. Harry, you…’

His heart racing fast, he cut off the rest of what she was going to say with a pleading look.

‘No, Hermione stop. I'm not ready yet,’ he said very fast. He looked down at the package on his hands.

Hermione let out a laugh.

‘What happened to Ginny's teachings of always speaking your mind?’ she asked mockingly.

He grinned back.

‘You know… sometimes I think they might be overrated.’

But he was joking. Hermione laughed at him.

He knew what she was going to say and she was right, as always. He just wasn't ready yet. Draco Malfoy was latching himself into his every thought and as every stubborn idea that took hold of him, Harry knew he needed to do something about it. Fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my beta Epoxide, for keeping reading and helping me :) If there are any bits that you really really enjoyed please let me know!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a content warning to make about this chapter, but since it functions also as a spoiler, I'll leave it in the end notes if you want to check it before reading, it might be a sensitive/heavy/triggering matter for you.
> 
> I want to gift this chapter to AureoftheNorthShore, whose comments gave me the energy to post this today and whose excitement about this story makes me really happy. Thank you all for keeping reading and being wonderful with your comments. 
> 
> And now... here's Draco's darkest night for you. Let me know what you think.

_"No matter how many nights that you lie wide awake_  
_To the sound of poison rain_  
_Where did you go?"_  
**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds To Mars**

  
Draco was cold.

He had been sitting on the window-sill, smoking cigarette after cigarette for hours now. The window was open and the cold night air had filled his living room. A spatter of rain had started to fall outside and the raw winter cold was setting on his every bone. He was only wearing a thin shirt and pants. His hand trembled as he lifted the cigarette to his lips again. He was so cold he could not feel his own naked feet, resting dead white against the stone sill. _Good._

He needed to stay cold. That was the only way to keep himself from _doing_ something. From going back to _him._  He needed his body to stay put, dead. For he could not feel warm again without thinking of Potter. Everything about Potter was warm. His body. His face. His smile. His eyes. That warmth turned Draco alive. It was too much to bear. Unfortunately, the searing cold numbed his body but it hadn’t still numbed his mind and racing thoughts. If he just stayed there long enough, though…

He wondered again why he was still alive. Well, surviving at least, because he could not call it being alive. He should be dead. He sometimes wished that Harry fucking Potter hadn’t saved him from the flames.

The cold was reaching inside him. Draco felt his own lips numb and realised that he could not even feel his fingers anymore. The cigarette fell from his hand and dropped fast towards the street. He stared mutely down, squinting to follow its descent, leaning over. The tiny little flame was rapidly being engulfed by darkness and hard rain. He was very high up, his loft was on the top floor. Cars were passing on the street, small and distant, lights moving fast. Sounds of laughter from far away reached his ears as if coming from another world. A group of friends was running from the rain, clutching umbrellas. They all looked very small. The rain was hitting his face, dampening his shirt and he shivered so hard that he lost his balance. His hand shot for the window-sill and still managed to grip it to stop his own fall. His heart was racing, his breathing fast, but he wasn’t worried. He wondered why his hand was still holding the window-sill. There was no reason to it… to hold on anymore...

Why would Harry Potter give him a single thought? Why would he even waste breath with him? Why did he have to say those things that gave him an insane hope? Draco did not want any hope. Hope was damaging. Hope brought him to expectations, to dreams. He did not like to feed any of those illusions. There was only one thing he’d been hoping for all those years. He hoped against hope to forget. To forget those dreams where Potter saved him, and kissed him to within an inch of his life. To forget how Potter tasted, how he turned his world upside down with everything he did and said. To forget that Potter wanted him. Because now even he, the master of denials, even he could not deny it. Potter wanted him and it wasn’t a dream, it was real. Why?

He was used to men wanting him. They wanted his body, but that was it. They did not care. True enough, he’d never let anyone close enough for them to be able to care.

It had never occurred to him that Potter might like men. He’d known for years that Potter was undeniably his type. Even at Hogwarts. But back then he didn’t think too much about it because he was supposed to hate him and _he did hate him_. Then, right at that first meeting years ago, he’d got the confirmation he hadn’t even asked for: Potter was still the type of bloke that turned him on. It was that simple. And that _complicated_. He had almost come to terms with it - the unrelenting attraction for Potter - when that blow job turned everything upside down again. Suddenly, it all made sense. Potter was as straight as he was and it was so obvious now that he felt quite annoyed at himself.

He thought it logical that Potter might want him for a shag. They all wanted him just for that. He had thought they’d end up fucking and that would be it. Years had gone by and they’d kept eye fucking everywhere, lying the next day, and then going back to their staring games. That blow job had been the tipping point. He had yearned for more, so much more, ever since. But they could not fuck again, in any way, he knew it now, because Potter _cared_. He cared. He kept saying things that showed that. Worse, he kept acting like he cared.

Draco had only ever cared for his parents. Even that seemed a long time ago. He missed his mother, sometimes. He missed being taken care of. By someone who cared. In her own messed up way, she’d cared. She had lied to the Dark Lord because she cared for Draco. She probably still cared now. He knew that missing something only other person could give to you was dangerous.

Slowly, he had started caring for Luna. Only, he didn’t know how to show it. He felt completely out of his comfort zone whenever feelings were concerned, but Luna always understood. He didn’t need to try too hard and then he stopped thinking about it. He just cared for her, he liked to be around and know what she felt, how she was doing, if she needed help with anything. He started to be there for her, like he’d never been to anyone.

But then, something worse than that happened, because he started caring for Potter too. Hermione Granger had been right at St. Mungo’s. He had been worried because he cared. He was furious with himself when he realised that she was right and that his worry was starting to show. So he kept lying. Lying wasn’t just second nature, it was slowly becoming the only way for him to talk to Harry Potter. The only way to try and keep on the safe side of this, or so he thought.

He’d started to wake up from dreams where Potter featured saving his life, showing up unexpectedly, taking him in his arms, or to his bed, or in his mouth. He’d wake up panting from those excruciating dreams, the ghost of warmth from Potter’s body etched on his skin. He knew Potter had some sort of saviour complex and Draco was probably just one more fucked up case for the saviour. Draco refused to be a fucking charity case for Potter to put his good name on, like a stamp of approval for all to see. He didn’t want to be saved. He did not want to be Potter’s pity fuck. He was so convinced he’d be just that, but then, that night at the function, Dream-Potter was real... He was real. He had even told Draco that strange line from his dream… And this Potter wanted him and he cared, he cared so much that Draco had to run away. And keep cold.

He was shivering so hard now. He did not know why he was still sitting on that window. How long had he been there? He did not even remember climbing there, or why. He felt confused. The lights down on the street were drawing him in. Down… The street under him blurred, the lights flickered in his eyes. The rain spattered his face with such force that it almost hurt. His knuckles had started to turn blue and he stared at them blankly. Why were they blue? He had run away from Potter but he never really left, after all. He thought about him all the time. He was only alive when when he worked with Potter. And alive when they were together. Everytime. Potter made him alive, too alive. He needed to numb it… _numb it_. The sudden idea hit him like a stone sinking in a cold and dark lake.

He wanted to move but couldn’t. He tried to force his body to follow his instructions. His legs were so stiff he couldn’t feel anything. The living room looked too bright. _Where was all that light coming from?_ He kept shivering violently, as he forced his legs down. His feet hit the floor slowly, they were also turning blue. Draco gripped at the wall as the world started to shift around him, the living room coming violently in and out of focus. He stumbled around the living room, not even registering as he hit a table. Searing pain spread through his hips and he gripped the back of a chair as he tried to command his legs to move again.

Slowly, stumbling and in pain, he reached the cupboard where he kept all his home brewed potions. He was looking for a very specific vial. His heart was racing fast as he picked it up, the cupboard and vials all spinning around in front of his eyes. This potion would make him _not feel,_  since he wasn’t able to do it by himself. He’d brewed it a long time ago, during the War, when his nightmares bared little to no difference from the reality he was living in. Just one drop had been enough to stop him reliving at night the torture he was suffering during the day at Bellatrix’s hands. Or everything he’d done during that nightmarish year fixing the cabinet. The year he’d been a full fledged Death Eater. He’d sleep for hours, his body and mind numbed down, spiraling out of this world. When he’d wake up he’d still be so numb it was like he was still dreaming. Nothing felt real, so nothing hurt him anymore.

He found himself again in the living room but he did not remember going back there. The vial was clasped on his hand. The window still stood completely open, the cold bit at his skin but he did not feel it anymore. His hand shook violently and his legs buckled under him, he hit the floor. There was pain, sharp and violent, but he only registered that as a minor detail. He was now focused in opening the vial. He tried and failed. His hands weren’t responding. Something in the back of his mind remembered him he was still a wizard and he could open it with magic, but he didn’t remember any spell at all. Instead, he kept thinking: _one drop is not enough. Maybe three. Four. Maybe… maybe the whole vial. Yes._ The whole vial would shut him down. It would shut down _Potter_. He’d never feel warm again. He finally managed to uncork the vial.

There was a sudden loud pop and the air moved around him. Luna had appeared out of thin air in his living room. Draco was so confused that he took some time to register it. She was the only person, other than himself, allowed to Apparate inside his home. Well, that was another downright _lie_ , his baffled mind supplied, as he still tried to lift the vial to his lips. His wards would allow Potter in too, though he’d rather die than reveal that to Potter.  

Luna reached in and easily took the vial from his dead hand. He did not even fight her. He couldn’t move.

‘What’reyoudoinghere?’ he stammered. His tongue felt glued to his mouth, he could not even utter the words properly. The cold was everywhere. He tried again, straining to let each word out. ‘I don’t want you here, Luna, not now.’

But she wasn’t listening. She lifted her wand, pointed it at the window and it closed shut. The apartment was still cold as a winter night. The tip of her wand was alight and she started to spell the place warmer. The vial was gone.

‘Where?...’ but it hurt too much to speak.

Luna waved her wand at him and, slowly, mildly hot air streamed from the tip, indirectly, towards Draco’s clothes. He looked down to see his clothes steam as they dried out. His body shook violently, but Luna was lifting him up, with the help of spells for she could not hold his weight alone. She gently took his hand and with her wand she drew him towards the couch. A soft blanket appeared out of nowhere, Draco did not even know if she’d summoned it from his room or conjured it, but she’d wrapped him in it and made him lay on the couch. He kept shivering and Luna kept the mildly hot air streaming at him, pointing it sideways so as not to send his body even more into a shock.

‘Luna… no… please,’ he was muttering incoherently. Some part of his mind was telling him that he could not be warm. He did not _deserve_ to be warm. ‘Leave me, Luna.. please. I can’t.’

Luna flickered her wand again and a kettle and teacup flew through the door, directly from his kitchen. She had the look of someone who wasn’t going anywhere.

She poured the warm tea and set it on the table. Then she turned to him, and for the first time her look wasn’t dreamy or happy. He had never seen her so serious. He realised he’d stopped shaking. The warmth was gently setting in.

‘Draco, I am not going to let you kill yourself. You are not going to die. You do not deserve to, no matter what you believe. I love you. I care for you. I am here, and I’m not going anywhere,’ Luna said.

She had said this like it was the purest of truths and as if nothing would change her mind about it. He wanted to cry, but nothing came out. Her eyes were wide and worried, but they weren’t afraid. They were warm. She was going to fight for him, no matter what it took.

‘The potion is gone. I know you can easily brew another one, but I’m going to trust that you won’t,’ she came closer to him, kneeling on the carpet. Her warm hands brushed some strands of hair from his face. Her touch was so careful and caring, that his eyes felt wet with tears that would not come out freely. ‘Draco… I know you're in pain. But the vial, one drop is only a temporary solution, as you know. It won’t make Harry go away. He’s not going away because he cares. But if you took all of that potion, that would be permanent. Is that what you want? Do you so wish to stop feeling that you’d do that? Do you so wish to hide the _best_ in you?’

He could not answer, his own voice felt trapped inside him. He was about to cry and he couldn’t. He blinked. A warm wetness stained his face. Luna brushed his tears with her loving fingers. He thought it ironic that Luna and Potter - years ago, in that Hogwarts bathroom - had been the only two people ever to watch him cry.

‘If you’d ask Harry to stay away he would, because he respects you. He would, even though that’s not what he wants. But even if you did that, he’d still be in there. He’s in _there_ , Draco,’ her hands brushed his chest lightly.

‘Luna, I can’t. I can’t... I can’t feel this, I can’t...’ his voice cracked. Tears kept falling down his face and he wanted them to stop but they wouldn’t. _Malfoys don’t cry._ It was Lucius’ voice, inside his head. It had been a long time since he had heard it last.

‘You are already feeling it. He’s making you believe, that’s why it hurts so much. It’s okay to hurt, Draco. It’s okay to cry,’ Luna’s voice was so warm. _Malfoys don’t cry._ Her voice provided a stark contrast with his inside one, cold as steel. She kept going.

‘It’s okay if it’s not okay. Tomorrow will be better. And then it will be worse again, and it’s okay.’

 _I’m never going to be okay._ His thoughts were helpless and Lucius was back again inside his head. He did not want him back. _Malfoys don’t cry._ He shut his eyes to stop the tears but they poured even harder. He’d lost all control over his emotions, but just then his own voice was back, filled with pain but still there. _Just fucking shut up, Lucius. I’m no longer yours to command._

Luna was still talking. She was easing away the cold voice inside him.

‘You don’t have to fight your feelings. Just let yourself feel. Healing is not linear. It has ups and downs and that’s okay. The important thing is: you are loved. You are worth it.’

She smiled sweetly at him, and Draco thought suddenly that there was no one quite like Luna Lovegood. Her voice was soothing and gentle and he loved her for everything she was. His hand reached out to touch her face. Slowly, she helped him to sit up and then she sat beside him, handing him the teacup. He drank. The tea warmed him even more but his mind was rushing, hurting.

‘It’s like the tattoo,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t believe in that side of me you keep talking about. The tattoo is a fake. Potter will see through, one day he’ll see that I’m not what he believes. Fuck, he’s not even good to himself, he should never want someone like _me_. I’m everything he's fought against. I don’t get him, why, why does he even care? I can’t take it, I can’t take him. He's... he's…’ a strangled sob moved to his lips. He felt scared out of his mind. He was sobbing because of Harry fucking Potter. He waited for the hateful voice inside his head but it did not come. The teacup started clicking in his hand and he set it on the table.

‘It’s the walls, Draco. He’s tearing them all down. And about time too,’ Luna said, tugging his hand.

‘I don’t want him to,’ his voice sounded suddenly very high pitched. He threw the blanket away, unintentionally jerking Luna’s hand from his and she stared at him, her eyes showing no surprise at this outburst. ‘I like my walls! Fuck it. He's Harry Potter!’

He stood up. Several parts of his body hurt, but there was something else that hurt more, so he did not pay attention. He staggered around wildly. Luna sat on the couch, waiting for him to finish.

‘Luna, he’s Harry Potter,’ he repeated, letting the words sink in. He wanted her to understand. She had to. ‘I can’t have him _here,_ ’ his hands opened helplessly. There was no clue as to what he meant by here - here being his home, his heart or his life. ‘I can’t have him around, or this close. I can’t, I just can’t,’ he was almost yelling now, blood rushing through his ears. ‘I- I can’t, I can’t _fucking love him_.’

He stopped breathing. The whole room shifted fast in front of his eyes and his body swayed. He had said it. He must be mad. He turned around to face Luna. She had the most peculiar look on her face.

‘I love him, Luna,’ his voice shattered. It was like everything had slowed down its motion and nothing at all was moving at the same time. A sense of unreality had settled on him and so he said it again, because it could not be real. ‘I love him. I’m a fucking mental case and I love him. I’m in love with him. I’ve been in love with him for years. I can’t deal with this. I can’t face him.’

Luna wasn’t surprised at all. She smiled at him.

‘The other Draco Malfoy couldn’t face him. Maybe this one can.’

He stood there looking back at her. All he could hear was his own, very loud, beating heart.

‘I’ve been trying to keep him out, but he’s not going anywhere, Luna. He cares for me, he wants me and I can’t stand to be around him and… and not touch him. I keep lying and pretending I believe my own lies, but he’s seen through them, and we're both just playing pretend. I thought it would be just a fuck, that he'd suck me off and we would be over this... this madness! But it got worse, I can’t get over him. It’s not possible to be this close to someone like him and not fall for him, he's... you know...’

Luna was nodding, still smiling.

‘He’s Harry,’ she said simply.

He looked hopelessly at her.

‘Yes. And _he’s in pain all the time_. I can’t stop feeling it because the fucking git has opened his mind to me and now I can’t shut it down ‘cause it takes too much out of me. He’s in so much pain. He’s given us this whole world but it was just another sacrifice,’ he let out a weird laugh, something that sounded oddly bittersweet. ‘Famous Potter, the _fucking martyr._ He’s not living, he’s just playing his part and they don’t even see it! And I cause him even more pain, because I’m as fucked up as he is. If not worse.’

He was now staring at the mantlepiece where a very small box was placed. It was scarlet and had a golden embroidery. He picked it up. He’d forgotten all about it.

‘I… I bought him this. For Christmas,’ he whispered and popped the little box open. He held it out for Luna to see. She gasped. ‘I don't know what I'm doing,’ he added helplessly.

Luna’s bright eyes looked upon the shiny object inside it. Her smile was warm and light.

‘Oh Draco…. is that?...’ but she did not need to finish.

‘Yes,’ he said very fast.

‘It's beautiful. He'll love it.’

‘If I’m ever able to give it to him, that is. I don’t think I can. I’m going to fuck it up anyways, probably say something horrible or disdainful ‘cause I’m deranged like that,’ he muttered. He placed the gift again on the mantlepiece.

‘Draco... get some warm clothes and let’s go outside. Let’s go see the Christmas lights. I know you love them,’ Luna held out her hand to him.

Choices. That was what fucking Potter had told him. It was all about the choices. He had decided to die that night. Instead, he was going to see the Christmas lights. He took Luna’s hand in his.

‘Thank you,’ he said to her.  

‘Don’t need to thank me,’ she said in a very Luna-like tone. And then she added hopefully. ‘Maybe we’ll find some Nargles on the mistletoe!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains descriptions of attempted suicide.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of this chapter. Does anyone want to try to guess what Draco's gift is?


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas is here. Enjoy.  
> And thank you again to those who have commented since the beginning and keep commenting now, you have given me encouragement and helped me feel less alone - it's been a few difficult months for me. Tell me what you think, share away your thoughts and pains, it helps me a lot :)

_"Heartbeat, a heartbeat_  
_I need a heartbeat, a heart"_  
**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds to Mars**

Christmas with Draco Malfoy had to be the weirdest thing his life had provided him so far.

Christmas was a special time of the year for Harry. It meant family time. After finishing Hogwarts, Harry had thought he’d be spending every Christmas alone since he was the only one without a biological family to go back to, but Ron, Hermione and Ginny had showed him wrong. They spent every Christmas together with Harry and then they’d make it up to their respective parents with a special lunch on any other day.

For years now their Christmas tradition had not changed much: their group would go out together for dinner on the 24th and then hit all the usual bars. There would be lots of food and drinking and the night would usually end up with them singing Christmas carols, wandering the streets, until they dropped, full, drunk and happy.

So it was nothing new when Harry woke up on Christmas morning, in Ron and Hermione’s living room, with a huge hangover.

He vaguely remembered last night: Ron had insisted that they’d go to a wizards’ club. Harry remembered the bottles of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky he’d shared with Ron, Hermione and Malfoy. Fortunately, they had discussed the sleeping arrangements for the night before they’d all been too drunk to discuss anything at all. Hermione and Ron had only one guest room and Malfoy had taken the bed.

He turned on the couch, his head buzzing. He dared not open his eyes for the world seemed too bright around him. Every limb he had seemed to be hurting too. This year, Luna, Neville and Ginny were spending Christmas abroad, somewhere with snow, bungalows, skiing and probably Nargles. He’d actually been grateful for that. He wasn’t ready to come clean to Ginny about his “Malfoy problem”.

And then it hit him.

 _Malfoy_. _Drinking_. _Uh oh, this is bad_.

Harry’s eyes burst open. He could have swore someone was pounding on his head with a hammer.

 _Fuck_.

He got up so fast it was as if something had propelled him forwards. He was alone but he could hear quiet noises coming from the kitchen. He put his glasses on and looked around him, half expecting the living room to provide him with some clues as to what had happened the night before.

His clothes were lying on a bundle, there were way too many bottles of Firewhisky on the table, but other than that nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary.

The presents were huddled next to the fireplace and Harry felt something gripping at the pit of his stomach at the sight of the beautifully wrapped parcel containing Malfoy’s present. In a few moments they’d be sharing and opening presents. A sudden urge to throw up hit him from nowhere, but still he managed to calm his nerves down long enough to address the more pressing issue on his mind.

He did not remember a thing from the night before, not even how they’d gotten back to the apartment, really. They were all too drunk to Apparate. He also did not remember removing his clothes. With his head throbbing impossibly, Harry stared at the bundle of clothes on the floor, trying to decide if they looked like hastily-removed-for-a-shag or just hastily-removed-because-dead-tired-and-drunk.

He remembered vividly that Hermione and Ron had been drunk out of their minds. He knew this because the picture of Ron hugging and kissing Malfoy’s face in a most friendly way was seared on his mind, in the same corner he put all the things he’d never once dreamed to see in his life. He also remembered Hermione dancing on top of a table in one of the pubs, not caring that dozens of people were watching.

But what about him and Malfoy? He suddenly had a flash of Malfoy yanking his shirt off and kissing him fiercely against a wall, hands all over him, but he did not know if it was real or another one of his deranged fantasies.

His clothes just lingered there, piled up, not reassuring him of anything, as a sense of helplessness took over. Did Malfoy undress him with those lean hands of his? The same ones that held a wand with precise control, that cooked elaborate dishes, that elegantly held a cigarette, did they drag themselves along Harry’s skin, demanding and teasing? His cock gave a twitch at the idea and he hastily rearranged his own train of thought. This was surely not the occasion to _imagine_ things, especially when he badly needed to remember what _actually_ happened.

Still straining to remember, he walked into the kitchen.

His heart immediately jumped to his throat at the sight of Malfoy. He was perfectly dressed in Muggle clothes, making tea like he’d had a great night’s sleep, his face showing no sign of tiredness or trace of a hangover. Not for the first time, Harry mused that no one should look that good after a night spent drinking. It simply wasn’t fair.

For a moment they just stared at each other, green and grey meeting in silence, then two things happened at the same time.

Harry realised he was only wearing a tight piece of underwear and sporting a clearly noticeable hard-on; Malfoy’s eyes darted downwards and he almost dropped the teapot he was holding.

He did not even think. In a split second he’d Apparated right next to Malfoy and was holding the teapot, his hand over Malfoy’s, his body fully pressed against Malfoy’s back.

‘Show off,’ Malfoy said in a low voice, but his breathing was suddenly uneven.

It occurred to Harry then that he could have levitated the teapot, that there were a dozen other spells he could have used to avoid disaster, but instead he’d chosen to Apparate straight into Malfoy.

They were dangerously close, but none of them were stepping away. Instead of coming up with some kind of retort, Harry simply breathed in the familiar scent of Malfoy’s hair. Then, with an almost imperceptible movement, Malfoy _leaned_ into him. Harry’s morning hardness brushed against his arse, painfully. All of sudden everything from the night before came back to him.

_Malfoy pressed under his hands, their bodies entwined, dancing so close together; their mouths on each other, both fighting a losing battle; their drunken moans mingling and teasing beyond reason; his hands on Malfoy’s wonderful arse; Malfoy’s hand on his pants, opening his fly, slow, slow, his long fingers wrapped around Harry’s almost leaking cock, burning, burning…_

‘Moooorning…’

Harry almost jumped out of his skin. He staggered back so fast he seemed to have Disapparated to the other side of the kitchen.

Malfoy dropped the teapot and it broke into tiny little pieces on the floor. He was so startled he did not even move to do anything about it.

Ron was at the kitchen door, looking at them amusingly and Harry had a dejà-vu from another Weasley in another time, another kitchen. With a most pleased-at-himself grin, that would have annoyed Harry if he wasn’t praying for a hole to open on the kitchen floor, Ron pointed his wand at the broken teapot pieces, said _Reparo_ and proceeded to make tea, humming “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” happily to himself.

Harry seized this moment to flee the kitchen. He did not dare look Malfoy in the eye again as he left for the living room and started to dress in a hurry.

Now that he remembered everything, his head seemed to hurt even more.

Draco Malfoy dancing with him, their bodies flushed together, those lean hands raking Harry’s body. _Those hands, everywhere on him_. On his neck, down his back, along the curve of his arse, down his thighs. Draco Malfoy’s mouth on his neck, _oh_. Those teeth teasing his skin and then kissing and then hurting and then back to teasing. Oh. Harry had lost his mind. But he hadn’t been the only one, because Draco Malfoy had yanked Harry’s shirt off, right there at the club, and his long fingers had touched every inch of skin available. His nails had teased along Harry’s back, scratching, hurting, sending shivers down his spine.

Oh, Draco Malfoy. The way he danced, pressing his arse fully against Harry’s erection, making him even harder for hours on end and not putting him out of his misery. Oh, Draco Malfoy, the way his hands went everywhere and just grabbed and teased and hurt, then pleased and caressed. Oh, Draco Malfoy taking Harry’s hands and putting them over his own cock, over his pants, just to make sure Harry felt the bulge there, to make sure he’d go crazy, surely. Oh, Draco Malfoy making Harry feel him up, there and everywhere, with dozens of people around them, Hermione and Ron somewhere in the crowd. Oh, Draco Malfoy taking Harry’s hands up along his body, allowing him to even open some buttons of his shirt and then taking Harry’s fingers to his own nipples and Harry could not believe it even as he pinched them, Malfoy’s lips opened, his head thrown back, eyes closed in pleasure-pain. And then, Draco Malfoy was on him again, tracing patterns with his nails on Harry’s arms, leaving a trail of marks on Harry’s already scarred skin and leaning in to speak on Harry’s ear: _your arms are so hot_ , he’d said, breathing against Harry’s neck and then kissing the skin there, slowly. And then: _I love them. Your arms._ Draco Malfoy loved his arms.

With them, Harry had pinned Malfoy harshly against a wall and he could have sworn that that had earned him a deep, out of control, moan from the man under him. He could not hear it, but he could feel it, he could feel it in the way those stormy eyes widened and darkened with arousal, in the way Draco Malfoy’s body felt pliant under his hands and mouth and tongue, every bit of that body just there for the taking. Oh, he could feel it in the way Draco Malfoy had let his legs fall open to allow Harry’s thigh to brush against his rock-hard cock.

And then, Draco Malfoy had let him take his body. Harry’s hands went for that arse he kept thinking about non-stop and Draco Malfoy chose that precise moment, in which Harry’s cock was hurting oh so painfully inside his jeans, to lean forwards and say - or maybe think, Harry did not know - _I want you inside me, Harry. Fuck me._ Oh, Draco Malfoy was so drunk that he’d called Harry by his first name, and oh Harry hadn’t known how much, how fucking much he’d wanted that, just Draco Malfoy calling his name... It meant everything. He was driven mad by it. And those low moans Draco Malfoy was making, almost whimpering while grinding impossibly against him, had made Harry almost come in his pants with unfulfilled want. And oh he did not know how he was able to restrain himself, when Draco Malfoy had so plainly asked to be fucked and even less when Draco Malfoy’s hand went inside his jeans and then… _oh._ Draco Malfoy had Harry’s cock in his hand and he was pumping him, so very slowly, once, twice. Those fingers were madness. They stood still, suddenly, hitting a sweet spot by mere chance, but Harry yelled and then Malfoy knew it. Harry felt him smile against his own jaw, a slow, teasing smile that took Harry’s breathing away, as Malfoy’s fingers brushed against that spot, again, and again, and oh Harry was going to come. The long fingers enveloped Harry’s cock. It was madness, and Draco Malfoy’s mind was open to his and kept saying things like ‘ _come for me, Harry, I know you want to. Come in my hands, Harry.’_ Harry was going to come, he was going to come hard because he had wanted Draco Malfoy on him like this for ages and his whole body was begging for it, oh _begging_. And he could not take it any longer, he was burning, burning... And Draco Malfoy was so beautiful like that, smiling at him, no walls, his grey eyes filled with want… Harry’s heart had been about to burst.

But then, through the drunken arousal, he felt himself burn to a cinder. _You’re so fucking hot, Harry._ Oh Draco Malfoy’s voice inside his mind. That voice that drove him crazy. That voice that was fucking him already, or begging to be fucked.

The same voice that went silent the next day. Always.

Malfoy’s back turning on him, leaving the club after that amazing blow job. Icy cold the next day. Malfoy running away from him, evading him, averting his eyes, after that maddening kiss at the function. Malfoy leaving and Harry knowing it was useless to ask, to plead, to want to talk about it, because he’d only meet walls and cold grey eyes. Draco Malfoy was drunk and kissing him, his tongue moist and warm, his taste so sweet on Harry’s mouth, his hand moving on Harry’s cock, ever so slowly.

And suddenly, Harry knew he did not want that anymore. He did not want drunken kisses, he did not want Malfoy to call him by his first name only because he was so drunk he would not even remember it the next day. When they drank like that they could never keep away from each other and they could always blame it on the alcohol later. But Harry did not want to blame it on the alcohol. He did not want to blame it on anything but this: he knew he wanted Malfoy. He wanted Malfoy even when he was dead sober, and in broad daylight too. He knew this with full-proof certainty. What he did not want was to play that insane game they played anymore.

Gently and shaking with the sheer effort it took, he took Malfoy’s hand away from his cock and brought it gently to his lips. He kissed those fingers as Malfoy stood there, breathless, confused, wanting him desperately, his mind a mess of conflicting thoughts throwing themselves at Harry’s face. _Don’t you want me? Harry… I thought you wanted me. Just fuck me._ Draco Malfoy was pleading, almost whimpering, too far gone and drunk. He’d say everything now because he wanted to fuck and be fucked. Harry tried to calm his own breathing down, his heart beating frantically as he kissed Malfoy’s hand again and again until finally he’d known he had to let go. He zipped his pants, still shaking. _You know I want you… but not like this. We’re drunk._ The grey eyes were hazed and unfocused, burning with unrelenting desire and Harry had to turn away and leave.

He’d gone out of the club to clear his head. There were few other things in the world he wanted more than Malfoy’s hands on him. He’d named it attraction but when he stood there, the cold clearing his thoughts, he’d known this thing with Malfoy was more than that. He’d known it for years now. The rest of the night was a blur but he knew that nothing else had happened between them.

He came out of his reverie to notice Malfoy standing at the door. He had a teacup in his hand. Again, his eyes said nothing, showed nothing and suddenly Harry felt way too vulnerable. He knew his own face always showed too much.

‘Drink this, Potter. You’ll feel better,’ Malfoy handed him the teacup. ‘I added some drops of a potion that helps with the hangover.’

Harry accepted the teacup, unable to speak. His head was pulsing with pain. Malfoy was already leaving for the kitchen, but Harry knew they had to talk about the night before and what was going on between them. Even if it meant that he would end up even more alone, because Malfoy did not want to face this.

‘Malfoy?’ he asked, but did not know how to go on.

Malfoy had stopped, looking at him, his eyes so guarded they seemed made of glass. Walls. Maybe Harry could find a way through them, _another_ way.

‘Thank you,’ he said. It wasn’t neither the time or the place for them to talk.

Malfoy nodded, mutely, and Harry suddenly wished this day would also pass in a blur. He stared again at the bundle of presents, drinking the tea.

The sickening feeling came back again some time later, even as the potion started to have some effect on him. They were all together in the living room, opening up the presents, and Harry’s insides seemed to be grappled by a tourniquet. Even the unimaginable sight of Draco Malfoy holding up a grey jumper with a large D on the front - a gift from Mrs. Weasley - did nothing to improve his uneasiness.

He barely registered the presents he got, even though he knew he always loved them. Next to him, Hermione nudged him on the ribs for the third time, as more presents kept being opened. It was way too soon for Harry, but now there was only one present left and it was the fancy wrapped package. Harry wished that a dragon would burst into the living room at that moment. Instead, Hermione was standing up and speaking very loudly.

‘Ron, would you mind coming with me to the kitchen? We’ll start on the lunch!’

Ron got up, a funny sort of smile on his face. Harry was grateful that Malfoy did not notice this, but that was only because Malfoy was eyeing Hermione suspiciously. Everyone knew Ron was crap at cooking, even with magic.

‘Are you sure you don’t want someone who can _actually_ cook?’ asked Malfoy, an eyebrow raised.

‘Oh no, Draco, thanks. Ron will do,’ replied Hermione airily, and she and Ron left them alone.

Malfoy leaned comfortably into the pillows and turned his piercing stare to Harry, his eyebrow still raised into a question. _Of course he knew something was off._

Harry felt like throwing up as he picked up the wrapped package and handed it to Malfoy, without looking his way. He hastily tried to pretend to be really interested on his own jumper, given by Mrs. Weasley. This year’s was dark blue.

‘What’s this, Potter? Becoming a little sentimental with age, are we?’ there it was, the usual drawling voice.

Harry decided not to mention they were the same age. It did not matter, he felt too sick to utter more than two words.

‘Merry Christmas,’ he muttered, almost inaudibly.

Malfoy was opening the carefully wrapped package and he took out the cashmere sweater, picking it up and holding it in front of himself. Harry took a peek at him and saw the grey eyes, unreadable as always. He felt even sicker than before but he still watched as Malfoy’s lean hands brushed the smooth fabric, slowly. Harry held his breath. The colour looked perfect against Malfoy’s skin, even better than what he’d imagined. It would look too perfect on him. He spoke without thinking.

‘I thought you’d like it. It’s green and all,’ he wished his voice sounded more normal but it didn’t. It was almost as if he was waiting for Malfoy to just dress it and show him how it looked. This had been the worst idea ever. _Ever_.

Malfoy’s eyes flared swiftly at him and an odd smile started forming on his face. Harry had suddenly lost his ability to breathe.

‘I fucking _hate_ green,’ Malfoy said, letting each word linger slowly and his eyes bore into Harry’s. Malfoy’s voice was cold, but his eyes were telling a different story. They were burning. Harry decided to address the eyes, instead.

‘You hate green? But… this is _Slytherin_ green,’ he said, the queasy feeling never leaving him.

He watched as the grey eyes fought to guard themselves again. For a moment they hinged on some unknown strong emotion that almost took full control of them. Then, Malfoy reigned it - whatever it was - in again.

‘So what?’ he asked indifferently. ‘I always hated green.’

It was like having a very silent battle in which the words spoke one thing and the eyes spoke another. Harry knew his own face said it all. It was all plainly in sight for Malfoy to see.

‘If you don’t like it I’ll take it back. It was a stupid idea anyways,’ he held out his hand.

Malfoy arched an eyebrow at him, his eyes flared again and he quietly folded the cashmere sweater.

‘Giving back a gift? I’m keeping it,’ and then his eyes went cold and emotionless.

***

Draco had never had such a nice Christmas.

It was hard for him to admit that he actually enjoyed this unpretentious, friendly, gift-opening, getting-together in Ron and Hermione’s simple living room. It provided a stark contrast to the cold Christmases at the Manor, or all the Christmases he had spent alone in New York or London.

The only thing he genuinely missed was decorating the Christmas tree with his mother. It had been their tradition, just the two of them. They usually spent the whole afternoon at it, not leaving the task to the house elves, because Draco had always loved Christmas decorations. Still he’d refused her every invitation to spend Christmas at the Manor. He did not even open her last letter and he’d sent back all her gifts.

This Christmas was undoubtedly different. Before, not even Luna had convinced him to spend Christmas together with the rest of the group. He’d even refused to spend it only with her, because he knew she was only offering because she knew he would refuse it otherwise. He had spent every Christmas alone since finishing Hogwarts. Some years back, Potter had had the nerve to ask him to come. He’d been a bastard as usual when he refused it point blank. But for the first time ever, he’d said yes to Hermione and Ron, which was in itself utterly unlikely. But not as unlikely as, say, the small scarlet and golden box, still safely inside his pocket.

They had spent the whole afternoon eating and drinking, then eating some more. Again Draco stared at Potter, his green eyes were bright as he laughed wholeheartedly at what Hermione was telling him. There was something incredibly warm about Christmas and Potter laughing like that... something he was not ready to take in. Well, he wasn’t ready to take in _any of it,_ as the night before had showed most clearly. He’d lost all control and he knew they both needed to talk about it but he wasn’t ready. He felt like that teapot he had been holding: almost breaking, only to really break a few seconds later. But there was no way, no spell, to put him back together again. He hated his own metaphor but he couldn’t think of any other way to describe it, really.

He wished the potion would take the hangover away, together with all the memories of the night before. It was even more difficult to forget it when one had to face an almost naked Potter first thing in the morning. He’d been trying to control his every reaction around Potter the whole day, suppressing everything he remembered from the night before, only to be remembered even more vividly.

So after they’d opened the presents, he had spent the most part of the day in the kitchen, cooking. It kept his mind and hands busy and in that way he could avoid staring at Potter every other two minutes. He’d managed to dismiss Ron and Hermione from their own kitchen, on the grounds that he cooked better than the two of them put together, which they indeed ended up knowing to be right as they merrily ate their way through his Christmas menu of smoked salmon with horseradish, cider roast turkey served with a side dish of Brussels sprouts with chestnuts and sage and later on, for dinner, roast beef with yorkshire pudding. For dessert, he had made the classic Christmas pudding, served with brandy butter (his mother always liked it served this way), custard cream, and of course Potter’s all-time favourite, treacle tart. Weasley seemed to love him much better halfway through this menu, which couldn’t hurt, really. On the other hand, and of much more consequence, Potter seemed to had taken a liking not only to Draco’s cooking but also to watching him cook all the while, which seriously unnerved Draco and did nothing to help him forget the night before.

Draco was not ashamed of what had happened. Sure, he’d let every guard down, because he’d been drunk enough to do it and not care. He had thrown himself shamelessly at Potter, knowing full well that Potter wouldn’t be able to resist him. No man had ever refused him. Much less a man that could feel his pressing need echoing inside his mind, like Potter could. They were so heavily attuned to each other that they had started flirting and then fucking with their minds, and only afterwards with their mouths and hands… he had been rock hard way before Potter had even touched him in any way. None of them had held it back and Draco had his mind open, so open… he was willing to let everything go, he couldn’t care, he just wanted to give in to it. Potter would take what he wanted and put them out of their misery just like that. They had been so mercifully drunk, so nothing had to be serious. He’d let Potter ravage him, he wanted to be taken against the wall and fucked hard and he’d told him so with his mind and with his moans. He’d never been able to stop himself from whimpering when Potter touched him. He wanted nothing more than Harry Potter on him, on his mind, his mouth, his hole. And then it was really happening, they had danced together most of the night and he had Potter’s arms around him, he’d shamelessly dreamt of those arms, holding him down, pinning him, and also cuddling him, drawing him close, and suddenly he was right where he wanted to be, tasting Potter’s sweet mouth on him, a mouth that always tasted of strawberries and Summer and he didn’t know he loved those things so much up until then. He’d never been so hard in his life, as when his fingers wrapped around Potter’s leaking cock. And it had been too good to be true. He wanted to get down on his knees and kiss the tip, and then he wanted every inch of it, he wanted Potter coming all over him, wanted him screaming and gripping his hair, touching his face, so warm…   

But then, Potter had stopped him, easing his hand away… Why? Draco had been bewildered and confused. Then Potter had taken his hand, sprinkled with pre-come already and his lips gently brushed it, and then he was kissing Draco’s hand, small kisses, soft kisses, warm, warm on his hand, and Draco had never been kissed like that. It was so sweet and innocent and Potter’s lips brushed the tiny traces of pre-come from his fingers, the sheer intimacy of it all taking Draco’s breathing away. And of all that they’d done that night, even though he’d loved every second of it, that was what he could not erase. The warmth of Harry Potter’s lips on his hand, kissing him with a tenderness Draco had never felt. He’d been kissed that kindly for the first time, just as it was the first time a man had ever refused him. Later, he realised Potter had stopped them getting into an even bigger mess than the one they were already in. But what was worse was the way Harry Potter had kissed his hands: tenderly, softly. That gentleness was what kept breaking Draco apart. He couldn’t handle it.

Well, it was too late now for the little box still inside his pocket, he thought hours later, as he watched Potter putting on his coat, gloves and scarf, ready to leave. Some part of him felt relief and resignation. He knew Potter was leaving earlier because he could no longer be around Draco. Potter wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore.

Potter said goodbye to Granger and Weasley, kissing their faces and hugging them, then nodded once towards him. Distant. Safer. Draco nodded back from where he was sitted, silently, and Potter left, closing the door behind him.

Hermione immediately rounded on Draco, as Ron picked up some plates and went into the kitchen.

‘You know, it’s not too late,’ she said with a determined look on her face.

He wished he could pretend he did not know what she was talking about, but somehow when he was facing Hermione Granger he couldn’t. He simply stared mutely at her.

‘You can give me every cold Malfoy stare you have on your catalogue, and still I’ll be right. I know Harry, he’s brooding over last night, he’ll probably walk home. He tends to do that when he’s got a lot on his mind.’

‘What’s that got to do with me?’ he asked, having found his voice somewhere and staring defiantly back at her.

‘It makes no sense to buy a present for someone and not give it to him. I’m just saying, he won’t be Apparating. It’s still Christmas, so… I’ll leave you to it,’ she left him alone.

Barely thirty seconds later he was grabbing his coat from the hanger and going out.  

Of course Hermione was right. He could see Potter walking slowly at the end of the street. He stared at his back, unable to speak, but Potter turned and looked back just then.

Draco walked over, avoiding the green eyes on him, surprised. He slowly took the box from his inside pocket and stopped right in front of Potter.

‘What’s that?’ Potter looked from the box to him, suspiciously.

It was almost as if he could not control himself, he had to answer with a sneer.

‘It’s wrapped… it has a bow… it does not have a name tag on it, but I can add one for you if you want to. Will it be “To the Boy Wonder” or will it suffice “To Potter”?’ he knew he was being insufferable and Potter eyed him with a raised eyebrow.

‘Very funny, Malfoy,’ he said. He seemed to be running low on patience and about to leave. Draco thought he might actually Disapparate just to be away from him faster.

‘It’s still Christmas,’ Draco held out the gift and with a moment’s hesitation Potter took it, surprise dawning on his whole face. Draco knew he’d been left speechless, something Draco was starting to admit to himself he loved doing.

Potter opened the box. Sitted on a velvety cushion was a shiny golden snitch. Green eyes fell on it and widened, as Potter picked it up carefully.

‘This... ‘ Potter looked from the snitch to a golden embroidered card inside the box, stating the snitch as a special collector’s item. ‘This must have cost a fortune!’

He gawked at Draco and Draco felt a unwanted smile spreading across his own face. He realised he could not suppress it.

‘Well, yes, I’m not exactly on a budget as you might have noticed,’ there it was, the Slytherin was back. He was still a Malfoy after all.

But Potter did not seem to care, he was holding the snitch up, looking from it to Draco and then back again at the snitch, his lips parted on a silly smile.

‘You… you shouldn't have, this is just… too much-’

But he had suddenly stopped talking, mid-sentence.

Draco held his breath. Potter’s eyes widened even more, shining bright, as comprehension dawned on them. He’d finally recognized the snitch he was holding. He blinked once and looked up. Draco took in the unrelenting green.

‘This is the first snitch I caught,’ he said, sounding out of breath.

‘Glad you caught on, Potter,’ Draco said in his usual drawl, but he wasn’t able to smother that smile that had formed on his lips. He hastily added. ‘That snitch is now quite famous, like you. Apparently anything the saviour touches turns into gold. And that was already gold, so…’ he felt his smile broaden, beside himself.

‘But I… I put in an auction, for charity!’

‘You’re looking at the man who bought it. So you see Potter, everybody wins. The orphanage will be getting a new, better home, and you get your first snitch back and get to keep it as a memento or whatever the hell you’d do with that.’

Potter was smiling broadly now, his green eyes brighter than ever. Draco decided to stare at the snitch.

‘Right…’ Potter was saying, that silly smile still on his face, his tone amused. He looked up at Draco, eyes intense. ‘So what do _you_ get?’

 _Oh. Dangerous question, Potter_ , Draco thought, but he had an answer.

‘I get to see you gawking at it like the silly git you are,’ he decided to look at Potter just then. Oh, that smile was breathtaking.

‘Fuck you, Malfoy,’ Potter replied, but he could not suppress a short laugh.

Draco had a thousand retorts for that but suddenly his mind had gone blank. He felt strangely happy. And Harry Potter was responsible for this feeling inside him that felt too much like hope. He did not know how to deal with something like this.

It was no good. No good at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to give you some update: I'm writing chapter 21 right now, and this fic will probably have around 26 - most of it is written (even up until chapter 26), but I'm re-writing and linking everything together. If there are things you'd like to be solved or answered in the chapters to come, any wishes you have, would you share them with me? I can try and woven them into what I'm writing. 
> 
> Also, I might slow down a bit in posting because I have a new family member: a tiny kitten called Snitch (2 months old) and apparently she does not yet distinguish between her toys and my hands and also she demands my full attention. She has decided to write bits of my fic too (so if it gets weirder you know who to blame XD). Anyhow, I've just moved to a new home and have a kitten to take care of + mental health to take care of (but fortunately writing this fic is part of my recovery and self-care), so if you're willing to keep up with me, I'll try and make my best. Thank you for reading and commenting.
> 
> Thank you again to my wonderful beta, @Epoxide, who even though writing a thesis still manages to get the time to read and help me. You're a wonderful person. 
> 
> And also thanks to amazing drarry writers I've been reading, you are a major source of inspiration: @bixgirl1, @Femme (femmequixotic), @loveglowsinthedark, @lefthandofglory, @WL_Erkling - just to name a few. Sorry, I'm really lame today, but lame is good. <3


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to write a bit more this weekend, so here is another chapter. Harry vs. Draco, for you.  
> Thank you to everyone who keeps commenting and supporting my work on this fic, you truly keep me going and anchored.

_"Do you really want me?_  
_(I need a heartbeat, a heartbeat)_  
_Do you really want me dead?_  
_Or alive to live a lie?"_  
**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds To Mars**

Draco was waiting for the speeches, wearing the same look he always wore on these occasions: perfectly poised annoyance.

He had decided a long time ago that the only way for him to attend boring Ministry official functions was to always have a glass of wine in his hand. He was now starting on the fifth of the night and at least he could say that the Ministry had a decent taste in wine.

Even after all those years, Draco could not decide which of them hated those functions more, him or Potter. It looked good on Robards that they were there, so he could shove famous Harry Potter under every international delegate’s nose. Like he was doing just now. Robards was introducing his star to a group of Irish wizards and witches, who were gathered around a very serious Potter, wearing his best Auror robes. Unfortunately for Draco those were the very same robes that appeared to fit him perfectly, with an embroidered tight waistcoat, very precisely tailored to his body. There was something undoubtedly sexy about Potter all dressed in dark and green, his black shirt carelessly open at the neck under the waistcoat. Draco stared at the stretch of visible skin there and Potter lifted his eyes, looking straight at him. Draco suddenly realised he needed more wine, so he quickly went into the other room.

Somebody at the Ministry also had great taste in bartenders, he thought. Regrettably, he’d already fucked this one at another function, some months before. No matter how much he tried, Draco could not remember if it had been good enough to give it another go. He was still trying to remember that when the bartender smiled seductively at him, while exchanging his empty glass for another one.  
  
‘Thank you,’ Draco said, as their hands brushed unnecessarily. It must have been good then, he thought. Maybe If the night turned out really boring he might… The bartender was looking intently at him, over the counter. Draco ignored him and his eyes wandered. He immediately regretted this when they again fell on Potter across the hall.

The Chosen One was now being introduced to a tall blond man, who was shaking his hand and leaning close to Potter to make some remark. Potter smiled back at the man and as usual with Potter his whole body seemed intent on the action. He smiled with his whole face, his eyes bright, tiny lines forming on his skin and stretching like they, too, were smiling. He blushed slightly at another comment from the man at his side and his smile now had a note of shyness about it. That smile plainly said that Potter was not even aware of how hot he really was and that did something to Draco. He was fighting a most intense urge to show it to him. To show him how hot he really was. To make him see. _Fuck._  
  
Potter would be giving his speech any minute now. People were moving to the other room to listen to it, and Draco followed them in, in time to watch Potter walk to the small dais in the middle of the room. Draco waited, a cold smile in place, a drink in his hand. In a few moments, Potter would be calling him to speak about War reparations and moving on after the War, naming Draco as an example of someone who had been changed for the better. It had been Potter’s idea and of course Robards thought it was genius. Draco had agreed to do it and everything was arranged, he even prepared a little speech. Only, he was not about to go on that dais or make good on his promise.

Potter was already speaking. He looked uncomfortable as he usually did when forced to speak in public but, also as usual, he kept going. At some point his eyes were on Draco and stayed there.

It had taken Draco months to admit it but he wasn’t hopeless anymore and this realisation terrified him. He now knew he wanted something out of life again and that was dangerous, because it made him vulnerable. It gave his life a purpose other than work and, worse than that, it made him _feel_. Dealing with feelings was not his strongest suit, to say the least.

It was all Luna’s and Potter’s fault, really. Luna with her hopeful dreamy ideas that he’d have some kind of chance with Potter if he just let his guard down and Potter with that stupid cashmere Slytherin-green sweater and stupid green eyes and stupid half-shy, half-shag-me smile. That last drunken night, on Christmas, had been a huge mistake, probably his biggest so far. That and the Snitch. And he’d been sober when he’d given Potter the Snitch, so no excuse there. He could probably blame Hermione Granger and her pointed look for that. No matter. Wanting someone that badly was dangerous. But there was no doubt that he wanted Potter. On his bed… against a wall, well, the place wasn’t important, really. The problem was that it did not stop there. He wanted Potter in his _life_ , he wanted to be close - but he couldn’t, wouldn’t. Potter deserved someone better. Someone worthy. He had to stop thinking about this - about Potter - but above all he had to make sure Potter stopped wanting him or caring for him. Only Luna knew the full truth of what he felt and he very much intended to keep it that way. No one else would know, he was even willing to be a fucking bastard again. _Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin_ , he thought bitterly. Oh, he still had it in him. After all, he’d spent half his life doing things Potter hated, behaving like a bastard. Potter would soon go back to hate him and he knew just the way to do it. Really, it was too easy.  

Across the room, the green eyes were still on him and a slight smile was starting to show on Potter’s face. Draco wasn’t listening because at that look his mind had wandered to those drunken nights again and how that hot mouth felt on him, but this time it didn’t stop there. Potter sucked cock like he did everything else, with heart and soul if one could say it. Draco finished the wine and his mind appeared to be out of control now. His eyes were transfixed and Potter was still looking at him and it was as if he knew what was on Draco’s mind. He probably did. Even in a room full of people it was as if nothing was between them at all.

Draco held his gaze, feeling himself burn and he gripped hard at the glass on his hand. He wanted to stop but couldn't. He still remembered how Potter smelled, how he moaned desperately when Draco’s teeth grazed his neck softly and then no longer softly… they both seemed to like it rough and sweet, all at the same time. He could still feel Potter’s cock on his hand, heavy, warm, leaking… He was wondering how a man like that, that never did things in half, how would a man like that... fuck.  

That was when Draco Malfoy decided that he needed that bartender and he needed him now. He broke eye contact and left the room with Potter still speaking, about to call him forth.

_***_

Malfoy’s eyes had been on him for the whole function. Harry could barely concentrate on anything else, much less giving a speech with so many vivid images taking over his mind. Malfoy had drank again and had apparently decided that this function was going to be even more unbearable for them than all the other ones put together.

Harry was trying hard to keep his head. He usually avoided drinking before giving his speech, and he had never been so thankful for it because Draco Malfoy had been putting his mind through a riot. At least he was sober, he didn’t want to imagine the effects of his alcohol driven mind coupled with those images he was getting. He’d probably lose it and fuck Malfoy against a wall somewhere. Still, he refused to block it out, even as he went on the dais. He held Malfoy’s gaze all through it. He’d thought it highly suspicious the way Malfoy had promptly agreed to his idea of being presented as an example of a changed person after the War, when Harry was expecting some resistance to it, to say the least.

He badly needed to guarantee that it was really going to happen. But Malfoy had left the room when Harry was about to call him to speak - and Harry just knew by the way he had turned his back that he’d never intended to go up there in the first place. He had had to improvise, which he hated and now he was thoroughly pissed off at Malfoy.

He tried again to smile politely at the Ministry official in front of him, but his mind was racing to find an excuse. He badly needed a drink or two if he was going to be able to put up with the long hours to follow, being dragged everywhere by a very pleased Robards. Harry did not even know why his boss was that pleased since they still hadn’t solved their biggest case, only minor ones. The only breakthrough so far had been when Malfoy’s MACUSA contact had been able to identify the code used on the cipher, but they were still waiting on the deciphered message.

Harry scanned the room. There was no sign of Malfoy anywhere. Ron appeared at his side and as if answering his prayers put a glass in his hand.

‘Drink, mate. You look like you’re about to bolt and this time you can’t.’

He was right. Harry emptied the glass in one go. There had been times when he’d given the speech and then discreetly left and Apparated home. But today he couldn’t and also he had a good reason to stay. He had to find Malfoy and tell him what a fucking jerk he was. They had had the whole thing planned out, but sometimes you just couldn’t trust Malfoy around hot bartenders and wine.

He excused himself from Ron and went looking for Malfoy, finding him, unsurprisingly, leaning against the counter in the other room, a drink in his hand, the bartender, a tall dark-haired man, speaking in his ear. Malfoy smiled, teasingly, at whatever the man was telling him and his smile broadened as he spotted Harry walking fast towards him.

‘Malfoy, a word,’ Harry said through gritted teeth.

Malfoy smiled provocatively at him, sipping his wine. The bartender was now looking at the both of them, his eyes having raked Harry’s body at once and Harry did not need to be a Legilimens to know what the bartender was thinking: threesome. Harry quickly dismissed this thought. He was way too pissed off.

‘Outside, Malfoy,’ he said again, ignoring the bartender’s eyes all over him.

Of course Malfoy wouldn’t ignore it and being Malfoy he would not let it go unnoticed.

‘Jeez, Potter. I didn’t know you for a cock blocker,’ he said out loud, as his mind fed Harry’s with vivid images of the three of them fucking. It would have been incredibly hot if Harry hadn’t been harbouring years of unspoken problems between them. ‘You know you want to…’ Malfoy went on, and leaned over the counter, catching the bartender’s inferior lip with his teeth, biting slowly, looking all the while, intently, at Harry. The other man gasped into Malfoy’s mouth and leaned over, his eyes still set on Harry too.  

Anger rushed through Harry’s veins, drowning even his arousal at the sight. He was too mad at Malfoy just now. But above all he was tired of the fucking games they kept playing. His jaw was set when he stared coldly at Malfoy, who let go of the bartender’s lips, showing no particular hurry in doing so. He then set his glass on the counter.

‘Be right back,’ he threw back to the bartender and only then did he follow Harry through a door to one of the balconies.

The balcony was empty save for the two of them and Harry cast a silencing spell, then closed the curtains and the glass doors to give them the most privacy they could have right in the middle of a Ministry function.

He allowed himself a minute or two to calm down enough to speak. Malfoy was leaning against the parapet, taking out a cigarette, looking like he hadn’t a care in the world. The second Harry looked at him he knew he’d be facing bastard-Malfoy all the way through and he decided there and then that he had had it.

‘You've put me in a very difficult position,’ Harry said finally, coming up to Malfoy, his voice low.

‘It's almost as difficult as the one I was _in_ last night,’ Malfoy sneered and it reminded Harry of their years at Hogwarts. That sneer had a way to make him furious in seconds.

‘Will you _stop_ with the _fucking sexual innuendos_?’ Harry said, anger building up inside him. Malfoy seemed to be enjoying this way too much.

‘I will, if you’re asking me to,’ Malfoy replied quietly, but he had a defiant smile on his lips that said otherwise. Harry felt a sudden urge to knock it out of him. ‘ _Am I making you uncomfortable?’_

‘I’m not _fucking_ uncomfortable, but can we focus? We’d agreed on this.’

‘Why, am I _fucking_ distracting you with my _sexual_ innuendos?’

There. _Bastard_.

‘You’re _fucking_ pissing me off, that you are,’ Harry said, trying as hard as he could to control his ever increasing exasperation.

' _Good_ ,’ said Malfoy with that fucking smirk of his that had the special gift of seriously getting on Harry’s nerves. ‘It’s one of my _fucking_ life achievements.’

‘Can we please stop saying the word _fuck_?’ Harry almost yelled, boiling up.

Malfoy let out a sudden could laugh that rent through Harry. He watched as the git lifted the cigarette to his lips, taking his sweet time exhaling deeply before answering.

‘ _Fuck_ no. It’s too much fun to watch your face when I say it.’

Malfoy had again that derisive smile on his face, and for the first time in years Harry felt like hexing him. He’d almost forgotten how Malfoy could be a fucking bastard when he wanted. The thing was, he knew why Malfoy was doing this. This was an act, a façade he was putting on to piss Harry off so that they wouldn’t address their… _whatever they had_. He suddenly felt very tired.

Malfoy smoked his cigarette, nonchalantly. Walls… Always those damned walls. Harry was going to try again, even though he did not know how much longer he could take it.

‘I'm trying to help you,’ he said in earnest, his voice as calm as he could muster, eyes not leaving Malfoy. ‘I hate the speeches but those people inside care about them and this was supposed to help. Robards…’

Malfoy cut him off, looking truly mad for the first time. He moved towards Harry so fast that they were suddenly inches away from each other’s faces.

‘Fuck them. Fuck Robards’, Malfoy said, his breath hot and furious on Harry’s face. ‘ _I don't need your fucking help,_ Potter,’ he spoke very slowly, letting each word linger like an accusation. ‘ _You_ should stop playing the part of the fucking saviour. You don't even believe half of what you say on those fucking speeches,’ he leaned in even closer to Harry, his face contorted by sudden emotion. _Real_ emotion.

The walls had broken down suddenly, Harry just didn’t know for how long. He allowed himself a second to acknowledge how fast he could now make them collapse. He remained silent, waiting, exhausted.

‘Or do you still think I don’t know?’ Malfoy went on, his tone rising dangerously, as he came closer to Harry. ‘I know how fucked up you are beneath that crappy hero role. _You_ keep trying to off yourself every other week. _I_ keep saving your ass because _you_ don’t fucking care, now do you? Stop putting on a show for me, Potter. I see through it, I’ve been seeing through it for years now and it’s getting fucking boring.’

They faced each other, silently. Harry kept his eyes on Malfoy, unwavering. He spoke very quietly.

‘And why do you do it, Malfoy? Why do you _care_? Am I the only one putting on a show? I will stop pretending if you do, too. What the fuck is _this_ we’re doing everytime we get drunk? Why the fuck do you keep staring at me?’

He knew he had the upper hand the minute he spoke. Malfoy’s face rearranged itself so quickly he wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t spent years watching and knowing every inch of it. Small lines rearranging themselves, eyes steeling themselves so fast they all but changed his whole expression, lips curling just slightly, miniscule details he had imprinted on his mind… He even knew the way Malfoy was leaning against the parapet again, putting some distance in between them, defiance and disdain already in place. Harry knew this countenance as well as he knew the cold voice that answered him.  

‘Potter, you’re so full of it. I know you're used to being the center of attention, but I have better things to do than look at you.’

Oh, he was good. He was really good at this pretend thing and he was definitely one of the best Occlumens Harry had met. Harry knew what he said was a complete lie, but nothing in Malfoy would prove that theory. He was disdainful and cold and still Harry knew the truth of it. Nothing flickered in those leaden grey eyes and he faced them full on, ready to deal his last card on that fucked up game of theirs.

‘ _You're so full of shit_ , Malfoy,’ he dropped every word, slowly, as he again closed some of the space between them. Malfoy did not back away, they were mere inches apart and it was excruciating. ‘Do you think I don't know the way you look at me? No matter how hard you try to keep me out, I know. You want me, same as I want you. I’m fucking tired of these games we play. And you know what?’ his voice was almost a whisper now, but each word carried clearly in the tight space between them. Malfoy had unwillingly parted his lips, and Harry braced himself for what he was about to say. ‘ _I can’t get you out of my head._ I still remember the way you _taste_ . Just say the word and you can have me any way you want. Even…’ he leaned forwards, covering the last inch separating them, his lips about to touch Malfoy’s parted ones. He reigned in his overwhelming arousal with the last trace of sanity he had, and finished in a rough whisper. ‘Even right fucking _now. Right fucking here. Just... admit it. Say it.’_

He stood there, his chest heaving, his heart beating so hard that he was afraid it would come through his mouth. They were too close to be bearable. For one crazy moment suspended in time, Malfoy’s eyes flashed on the verge of some unnamed intense emotion. Oh he was about to lose it, Harry knew it. A rush went through Malfoy’s whole body, spreading to Harry and he felt it too, a neediness he could no longer reel in, threatening to overwhelm him, and he needed to…

Only, it wasn’t him. This maddening need hit Harry full and the wave engulfed him, Malfoy was moving, there was nothing left between them. _Warmth. Just give in, just give in to it, you want him. You’ve wanted him for how long? Just say it…_

Malfoy’s lips were on his, his mouth open under his, wet, full of need, his tongue beckoning Harry’s inside… _Take me, just take me._ Oh, Malfoy was desperate for him, his mind was screaming. Harry wanted to cry out from the sheer want he felt just then. Instead, he stepped back, feeling the world spinning around him, he could not breathe but still he knew what he wanted more clearly than ever. He had Malfoy’s taste on his mouth as he spoke.

‘Draco, no… I want you to say it. I _need_ you to say it out loud,’ his voice broke off. ‘No more mind games. Tell me what you want.’

Malfoy’s eyes changed fast, unguarded as they suddenly were, and fear had come charging out of them. Harry reached in, Malfoy’s panic seeping through him and without even thinking he held out a hand to touch Malfoy’s face. But Malfoy jumped away from him, wild-eyed, his breath completely out of control.

‘Don’t…’ he seemed about to choke. ‘ _Don’t you call me that_ ,’ he said, his voice shaking, sounding almost too high. He gripped hard at the railing, all his composure lost. And only then did Harry realise he’d done it. He’d said this name he’d been dreaming of, not daring to speak it out loud, wondering if someday… And now he’d finally said it, right in the middle of this, and Malfoy was looking at him, bewildered, paler than ever.

‘Can we please talk about this? Please?’ Harry asked, hopelessly.

‘If I wanted to talk I'd get a therapist, Potter,’ Malfoy said through gritted teeth, still shaking.

Harry was answering before he even thought it.

‘Maybe you should.’

‘Bit rich coming from you,’ came the biting answer, and Harry knew Malfoy was regaining control fast and that meant he was going to leave.

Harry felt suddenly drained. There was only one thing left to say.

‘Fuck this, I'm not up to it anymore. Say you will, say you won't, but please stop this. Stop torturing me. Us. We're both miserable. Why? Why are you doing this?’ his heart was about to leave his chest, for sure. It was beating so loudly that Harry felt it drum-rolling inside him. He did not even know if he wanted to know the answer anymore.

It took some time, but he knew he had lost the battle the minute the cold grey eyes set again on him. Malfoy was in full control and he’d do what he did best.

‘I don't know what you're talking about,’ he said, his face a perfect blank mask.

But it was a mask. It was so clear now. And suddenly Harry knew that no matter how much he wanted to be closer to Draco Malfoy, this mask would always be in the way. And he did not want to be facing a mask. He wanted the man under it. Maybe he had to accept that he wanted something impossible.

‘You’re a fucking sick bastard,’ he said and he suddenly realised he had really meant it.

Malfoy looked at him coldly, almost as if he was a nuisance he had to endure. A tiny victorious smirk started forming on his face, but it was a broken smirk, incomplete.

‘Fuck you, Potter,’ he spat, and threw his still lit cigarette to the floor, stepping on it. ‘If I want a shag all I need is call for it and it will be handed to me on a silver platter. I don’t need your help on that. I’m not interested in your offer.’

 _This isn’t about a fucking shag and you know it,_ Harry thought. But he didn’t say it. The cold eyes held his, piercing him, chilling him.

‘Good for you. Go have it then,’ Harry threw back.

And then he left without looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My inspiration for Harry's Auror Robes on this scene was this amazing art piece: https://s3.amazonaws.com/ksr/projects/194214/photo-main.jpg
> 
> Some of Draco's biting remarks and sexual innuendos are, of course, inspired by Brian Kinney from Queer as Folk US - if you haven't seen it, please do.
> 
> So... don't need to tell you everything is about to come crashing down with a bang. Please let me know what you thought of this chapter. I loved writing this argument between them but it was also quite a challenge. Comments, critiques, support - all are very much welcomed and needed!
> 
> I'm currently writing Chapter 22 and this fic will have 26 chapters.


	17. Chapter 17

_"The promises we made were not enough_  
_(Never play the game again)"_  
**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds to Mars**  


He did. Draco had a cock up his arse and was being fucked hard and heavy into a wall. He was so completely drunk that he did not even remember how he had gotten there, only that he was somehow getting what he wanted.

The stranger had him locked in a tight grip as he pumped into Draco, hips crashing painfully against Draco’s arse, the cock thrusting fast in and out of him, hitting his sweet spot with each thrust.

‘You like this, don't you gorgeous?’ the man panted in his ear, then bit into his shoulder.

 _Yes,_ his brain replied. _I also like you to just fuck me and fucking shut up_.

‘Harder,’ was what he said out loud.

The stranger grunted in response. Draco closed his eyes and leaned forwards slightly, so as to give the man broader access. It was painful, the man had him in a much too tight grip, locked in his strong arms, and pressed against the cold wall, his head in serious danger of hitting hard stone at any moment, but he couldn’t care. What he cared for was having his brains fucked out of him properly. He was so hard his cock hurt and he started to impale himself harshly on the cock behind him, not touching his own. This was exactly what he needed. To be fucked as the piece of shit he was, something to be used and thrown out when no longer needed.

 _This wasn’t enough, though,_ he thought, as the stranger kept fucking deeper into him and groaning, biting at the skin of his neck. Draco hated it. He hated that the stranger’s hands were locked across his chest, too intimate, holding him almost like a lover. He didn’t want any of that. He just wanted to be a hole.

He tugged harshly at the arms around his torso and removed them, placing them on his hips, and then leaning against the wall, bending over, his head pressed against the cold stone. Draco pushed back fast against him and the man thrust even harder.

‘Fuck, Draco,’ he groaned. ‘You... have... the nicest arse I’ve ever fucked…’ the stranger panted between each thrust.

 _Stop talking_ , Draco thought. _Stop being nice._ His head was banging against the wall and the stranger tried to put his arms on the wall to protect Draco from hitting it, but Draco took them away almost violently.

‘Can’t you go harder?’ he hissed, through clenched teeth.

He felt the stranger losing it. The man’s mind was no mystery to Draco, it was really quite obvious: it was too much for him to bear, to have such a gorgeous man under him, open and fuckable, it didn’t matter that he was demanding because that was part of what made him so irresistible. Draco knew exactly how to get the rest of what he, himself, wanted.

He took one of the man’s hands from his hips and harshly took three fingers into his own mouth. There. He was just holes now. He sucked them, filthily, taking them as deep as the angle allowed. He wanted to gag. The stranger moaned loudly, fucking Draco’s mouth with his fingers and Draco’s arse with his cock. Draco took it all in, dripping saliva, using his tongue to draw the fingers in and make himself gag, as the cock threatened to split him in half. His knees buckled under him as he started gagging but the stranger slowly eased the pressure inside his mouth. Draco grunted out of frustration, not pleasure, but he knew the man would not get it. Sure enough, the other went on, driven by the only wordless sound Draco had made up until then.

‘You're so fuckin’ tight,’ the other managed to say, in a valiant effort to speak so close to coming. The thrusts were becoming erratic.

Draco wished he could make the man fucking shut up, but he still had the fingers fucking into his mouth. He took the other hand from his hips, the man not resisting to any of it, and closed it around his own neck, pressing hard.

‘Is this what you want?’ the man asked and Draco knew by the heavy grunt he gave that they didn’t have much time left. The stranger started to grip hard at his neck, keeping Draco’s head in place against the wall but not really strangling him.

 _Tighter, tighter_ , was all Draco could think.

‘I want to make you scream,’ the stranger was saying, in between heavy breaths.

Draco did not moan or scream when he was fucked. They could have his body, his every hole if they wanted to, they could stuff him everywhere but he did not scream. He did not give that satisfaction to anyone. Well, _almost anyone_.

The fingers left his mouth and Draco almost grunted now - but in sheer annoyance. The other hand was still on his neck but it wasn’t near enough for him. He was breathing much better and he hated it. The hand of the stranger, still dripping in Draco’s saliva, shot for Draco’s cock. The fingers curled around it as it started to pump him in rhythm with the thrusts. And suddenly Draco could not breathe and it did not have anything to do with the hand still on his neck. He could not look away from that hand around his cock. It looked like Potter’s.

‘Come for me, gorgeous... I know you want to.’

The stranger seemed about to come, his hand bringing Draco with him to the edge. The hand on his cock was strong, harsh. It did not have any scars. There was no white faded word lies there, nor any of the new scars, freshly made, tracing patterns on the skin. It was weird how well he knew those scars. This was just another hand, making him cum, a cock up his arse, filling him up. Wasn’t this what he wanted?

‘Stop,’ he said in a weirdly quiet voice that barely carried over the stranger’s moans and grunts.

Carried away, the stranger thrust twice more inside him, hitting his prostate and Draco tried to grip the wall as a wave of pleasure went violently through him, crashing with his uncollected thoughts.

‘What?!’ the stranger managed to ask, stilling inside him.

‘I said stop. Get the fuck off me,’ Draco repeated.

The man slid out of him and Draco stood up properly, brushed him away and pushed his pants up, feeling lubricant spreading and dripping down his legs. He cast a cleaning wordless spell on himself and straightened his clothes.

‘But I... I thought you... you wanted it,’ the man was looking at him, bewildered. He still had his pants down and his cock was hard, covered in pre-come and lube, but looking disappointed. Only then did Draco realise the stranger was the bartender from the function.

‘Thanks for the fun,’ he said coldly as he left.

He turned left on an alley behind the fancy manor and walked mindlessly for some time, not bothering to check where he was going. Apparating while being so drunk was probably a terrible and dangerous idea, he might get splinched or die. So why not just do it? He’d take the risk.

He thought about Apparating to Potter’s room directly but Potter’s home wards would probably beat the shit out of him, before he even got what he was going there for. So he decided to Apparate to Potter’s front door.

Before he even knew what he was doing, he had his finger pressed hard and long against the doorbell.

 

***

  
Harry was being fucked. The man had him spread open under him, hands on the bed headboard, as he pumped rhythmically into him. Harry had his eyes shut, sweat trickling down his back. He leaned forwards, his head resting against the cold wall, his arms keeping him steady as the other pulsed deep inside him.

The man was grunting on his ear, and Harry pushed back against him, allowing him deeper. There was searing pain behind the wave of pleasure as the cock filled him up, cutting him open and almost to the middle and he vaguely remembered they hadn’t used enough lube. It didn’t matter. He’d gladly take the pain, he’d always been good at it, enduring physical pain had never been what broke him.

He felt so tired of masks. This man, behind him, fucking him, had no masks. He’d spotted Harry some weeks back in a pub, they’d talked and Harry had always found some excuse to evade him, but then tonight after leaving that damned function, Harry had gone there. The man had tried his luck again. He was into Harry, no barriers, no pretence, he just had come forth and told him that. And that night, Harry said yes.

‘Harry, I don’t want to hurt you. Let me fetch some more lube.’

He was almost surprised to hear the caring voice sounding on his ear. There were hands on his chest, caressing him, and he didn’t want any of this. He hadn’t realised the rhythm had eased. But now that he did, he didn’t like it. He liked the pain better.

‘Why did you fucking stop? I don’t care, just fuck me,’ he said - his tone wasn’t harsh, just desperate - as he took the hands away from his chest and placed them on his hips, thrusting back _hard_. The man moaned and whispered something against his ear. Something Harry didn't even hear. Now, apparently, he was the one wearing the mask. Funny how that worked.

The pain was back, and Harry groaned in response, encouraging the man behind him. With one hand he took his own hard cock, and started to pump it, eyes closed, head down against his other arm. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

 _Draco_. Why did he have to hurt so much more than this? Why did Harry need him so badly, want him so badly? Not just that, he wanted to be wanted, to be needed back. And he had thought he was but then… _Draco…_ The cock thrust so very deep inside him his eyes shot open. _Draco_. He was sobbing from pain, from want, it didn’t matter, nothing mattered because Draco was right about him, and he was right about Draco. They were both too fucked up to work this out.

His hand on his cock was a blur, everything was a blur, and the man kept plunging into him, breathing in his ear, hands gripping harder at Harry’s hips, marking him. _Draco_ . He’d never have this with Draco, it had been an illusion. An illusion he’d been harbouring for the last seven years of his life. The man pulled him close into a kiss, his chest against Harry’s back, changing the angle, his cock going upwards and hitting Harry’s prostate and Harry cried out, and just let him do whatever he wanted, mouth open for the taking, only pain everywhere inside him or was it Draco inside him... and the man was speaking against his lips, inside his mouth, holding him, touching him everywhere like Harry was his, loud moans were filling the room and then he was coming inside Harry, and coming, and eating Harry’s mouth and Harry sobbed and didn’t care, he was going to come… _Draco. Draco, Draco, Draco._ He came with a renting yell. _Take the pain, just take this pain away._ But Draco wasn’t leaving him, even as the man kept emptying himself inside Harry, even as Harry came hard, spasming in pain and pleasure, his hole clenching around the cock still inside him. He felt empty.

_Draco._

His head was ringing from the intense pain overriding his orgasm.

_No, wait._

That was his doorbell. Someone was ringing it endlessly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any ideas of what's going to happen when Harry opens that door? The next chapter was my favorite to write, even though so difficult. Let me know what you thought of this. Feelings, thoughts, ideas, questions, please share them with me. Thank you so much for sticking around :)


	18. Chapter 18

_"Do you really want me dead_  
_Or alive to live a lie?"_  
**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds to Mars**

  
Potter was at the door, dressed only in jeans. One look, and Draco knew he’d just shagged someone. It was a measure of how drunk Draco was that for the first time he could not pretend to _not_ be staring. He did, shamelessly. For a whole long minute, head empty of anything else but Potter’s naked, sweaty, chest, before Potter pointed his wand at him.

Only then did he notice his index finger was still pressed on the doorbell, the shrill noise echoing too loud in the silent night. He removed it slowly. His head was throbbing so painfully that for a second there he just saw white.

‘Explain, or I swear to you…’ Potter spoke, his voice low and dangerous, but it shook and he could not finish. Instead, his rage hit Draco full in the face, no filters, just pressing pain threatening to crush him there.

Still, Draco stepped forward, letting the alcohol take control of his actions and the overwhelming death wish welling inside him take control of his words.

‘You’ll do what, Potter? Spit at me? Smack me in the face? You’ll do some damage there…’ He smirked, that smirk that he knew hit Potter in just the right way and he felt Potter boiling up, the naked chest in front of him rising and falling rapidly. ‘Men like my face, they say it looks pretty stuffed with _cock_. If you punch me hard enough maybe no Healer can make it _that_ pretty again and that would such a shame, don’t you think?’

He knew he was overstepping every line and still he took another step, the wand still pointed at him. The tip touched his chest and Potter pressed it against him, his jaw clenching hard. A _warning_. A warning that was also etched in the burning eyes piercing through Draco. But he wasn’t going to stop, his mouth seemed to have a will of its own now, as did his body.

‘Or maybe you’d like to choke me,’ he said in a low voice, and then he moved so fast Potter was unable to stop him. He pulled Potter’s free hand and held it around his own throat, wand still piercing his chest. Potter’s eyes went dark and mad in seconds, but Draco felt vicious and edged his rage on, pressing further the strong fingers around his neck. Magic cracked around them and Potter spun him around and slammed him against the wall, on the side of his door. Intense pain seared through Draco, spreading from his head and back fast and for the first time that night he was really getting what he wanted.

‘Stop it, Malfoy,’ Potter said, his tone heavy and threatening, his wand still in place, his hand around Draco’s neck, pressing harder with each moment. Draco let his eyes shut and his mouth fell open, unwillingly. _Oh._ A low maddening moan escaped his lips. He loved Potter’s hand on him like that. He did not even need to make it stay on his neck anymore because it was there, where he wanted it, and the only thing he needed was to keep talking somehow.

He opened his eyes and found the green ones on him, almost unrecognizable. Potter was so enraged he looked out of his mind, the tension on his body palpable, his arms almost trembling with rage. He looked every bit the dangerous and powerful wizard he was and Draco felt the magic biting at his skin. The pain he was giving Draco was _everything_. He had to keep going if he wanted more of that, _before_ Potter got a hold of himself. Because he always got a hold of himself and this time Draco couldn’t let that happen. He _needed_ this.

His voice came out choked, as he fought to draw it out of his finally - almost properly - constricted throat.

‘Oh you can make me stop… watch as the air leaves me… finally shutting me up… isn’t that what you want? To just shut me up?’ his voice was a thin trail of sound, hoarse, a strange tangle of innocence and utter cruelty. Something warm, wet, was burning behind his eyes, he was slowly starting to choke, Potter’s fingers were burning on his throat and he wanted... _more_. ‘Just leave your fingers marked on my neck, so I can’t walk around with skin showing... so the next man that gets to fuck me keeps wondering whose fingers marks are those around my neck…’ he’d never seen Potter’s eyes so furious. The green was almost too dark and the pressure on his throat was unrelentless. Potter was about to snap, he looked terrifying. Draco kept going, fast, his voice cracking as something black flashed in front of his eyes. ‘You know you can break me, Potter. No magic. Just break me.’

His mind was screaming _do it_ and he was blacking out. Potter’s dark eyes flashed in and out of focus before him and then… Draco almost fell to the ground, his throat was released so suddenly he gasped intensely for air and it cut through him, cold, in stabs of pain. He clutched at empty air, finding only the wall. His eyes, the street and Potter’s legs covered in jeans came into focus again.

Potter was breathing heavily in front of him, as if he’d been choked too, his arms trembling so much now that Draco wondered how he was able to hold the wand still pointed at him. Draco held himself against the wall, grabbing it for support, unable to stop shaking. There was a moment’s silence and Draco knew it was one of those moments between them when anything at all could happen. Maybe Potter would hit him, throw a vicious punch at his jaw. Maybe he would grab him by the collar and kiss him on the mouth until Draco’s lips bled. Or maybe he would finally take hold of Draco and fuck him there. Or turn his back on Draco and leave forever. He waited, fighting to put a smirk in place. For which end he was hoping for he did not even know.

Potter’s face set on some resolution and this time he couldn’t read into it.

‘I know what you’re doing, Malfoy,’ Potter said slowly, fighting hard to control his rage. Draco could feel it burning up between them, Potter’s magic boiling and only kept under check by his powerful control. _Oh he so wanted to make him lose that control._ ‘Stop it. I have company, he’s a Muggle, or I’d have already _made_ you leave.’

The threat was clear and Draco felt the thrill of it on his veins. Maybe he could still spark a reaction. He changed tactics and looked straight into the green eyes.

‘It’s gonna take more than that to make me leave. I’m gonna stay here until you let me _in_ ,’ and he looked all over Potter at that, leaving it to him to find the meaning behind the words. He just let his eyes wander freely through the naked torso, to the nice bulge under the tight jeans, then down the finely shaped legs. Oh blessed alcohol for allowing him to do this. Harry Potter was his walking wet dream.

Also, Harry Potter wanted to really _strangle_ him now. Ironies. He wanted that and everything else.

‘Now you want to talk? Now?’ Potter managed to say, his voice cracking and he still did not lower his wand.

‘I didn't say _talk_ ,’ he smirked and Potter instantly flared up and stepped closer, tension building up again.

‘I’m not up for more games,’ he said, through gritted teeth.

Draco smiled intently and then he leaned slowly against the wall, in a way he knew drove Potter mad with want, his head tilted to the side, a strand of his hair falling forwards. The reaction from Potter’s body was so intense he felt his own skin burning and his own body was too alive. Fuck, he was treading on a very thin line here. Only then did he look towards Potter.   

‘What about fucking? You seemed _up_ to it.’

Green eyes flashed at him. For a second he felt the burning desire flare up, just before it turned into searing rage.

‘And you’re _fucking_ _drunk_ again, and that’s why you’re telling me that,’ Potter said in an accusing tone.

‘And you’re _fucking_ fucking someone not because you wanted it but because you _fucking_ can’t feel _anything_ ,’ Draco said, nodding towards the still open door, surprised by the cold rage that seeped through his voice.

They went silent again, each truth hitting home, none of them denying any of it.

‘Oh I'm feeling several things at the moment, Malfoy,’ Potter said slowly, and the lights from the street flickered slightly as if to underline that.

Draco smiled, it was close now. He leaned forwards, feeling the wand piercing his chest again. The pain edged him on. He was so close to Potter he could feel his uneven breathing on his own lips.

‘Like what?’ he asked, his voice sounding loud and teasing in the silence. ‘Do you want to make me bleed to death again? ‘Cause I can take it. I’m not a little boy anymore, Potter.’  

All blood drew out of Potter’s face. He stood there, looking breathless and suddenly pale. The lights went suddenly out and Potter shook, the wand trembled slightly in his hand and then the lights were back. Potter was refusing to look at him, his head turned sideways, away from him, his face hard and fighting something… Draco had moved even closer and lifted his hand to touch Potter’s face, he wanted to make Potter look him in the eyes… he wanted to watch that battle...

As predicted, Potter jumped back violently and rage burned around them, the lights went out again and through the near darkness Potter’s voice carried, heavy with fury.

 _‘Don’t_ you fucking _touch_ me. I’ve made you bleed once, don’t make me do it twice.’

Draco shivered, fear and adrenaline coursing through him fast, mixing with his alcohol-driven mind. He watched Potter’s suddenly paralyzed figure, the light from the doorway drawing him in half light, half dark. Draco knew Potter had just said something he’d never forgive himself for, and Draco plunged deeper into it, driving his words like daggers into the open wounds.

‘I can take anything you send my way, Potter. Anything at all. Maybe Boy Wonder prefers to use magic? We both can feel it slipping your control just now… You’re the one with the wand, mine is still in my pocket and, as you said, I’m drunk… There’s a chance I might be… _unable_ to defend myself,’ he paused, checking for the effect of his words in the miniscule reactions he was getting. Potter’s jaw, already clenched, tightened just slightly, his free hand flexed, wanting to curl itself into a fist, but still Potter restrained it. Draco licked his dried lips and launched himself further on, his throat hurting with every word he said. ‘But then again… we both know we wouldn’t need wands to do all the magical damage we wanted to. You can easily overpower me, yes… but I’m usually faster than you, so… it begs the case of who would be first to hit,’ Potter was taking in his every word, barely drawing breath, but Draco knew he was also watching for other signs, reading into him with the scary accuracy they’d had both achieved with each other after all the years. He smiled, drawing from what Potter was probably thinking. ‘How drunk am I, really? You know I can take alcohol really well. Still, we could do some real damage here, but we’d also break some shitty laws, and that would be such a shame.’

He was still leaning against the same wall and Potter wasn’t moving or breaking the silence that stretched between them. He carried on.

‘What do you say to breaking some of the Muggle laws? Want to punch me through this wall? Do it. Want to force me down on my knees and stuff me with your cock just to finally shut me up? Do it.’

And then Draco moved away from the wall, his hand outstretched and even he did not know what he was doing, only that he was going to touch Potter and make him _do_ something.

‘What the fuck do you want from me, Malfoy?!’ Potter yelled, staggering back, desperation and a trace of near madness on his face. He finally lowered his wand but it did not matter because the crack of uncontrolled magic in the air went through Draco and made him half-hard. Oh, he was fucked up. ‘What are you doing here?’

And for the first time that night, Draco ran out of words.

Several things at once hit him. The War was over. There was no Dark Lord to obey or fear. No impossible task to perform. No parents to please anymore. It was all over and the man that ended it all was asking what he wanted from him. And suddenly the question was much bigger than that. What was he doing here? He could leave England. He could have left a million times already. He did not even need to work as an Auror. He was still the sole heir of a fortune. He could be living anywhere else in the world, and never ever again think about Voldemort or Harry fucking Potter. He could even leave the Malfoy name behind and be another Draco somewhere else and start over. So why didn’t he leave? He knew the answer. He’d known it for years.

Potter was still there, one side of his world from before, the side he had hated, and he could do what he always did. Hate him again. Mess him up so badly he’d hate Draco back. Make him angry out of his mind. Well, now he finally knew why he was there, at his doorway, after the worst fuck of his life.

He leaned forwards, his head tilted to the side, lips almost touching Potter’s ear. Through the layers of emotions he still felt the shiver of their closeness, running down Potter’s spine. And then, in the lowest whisper, he said the first thing that came to his drunken mind.

‘I bet you’d like some Death Eater cock inside you, Potter.’

He knew he was being sick and disgusting but all he could care now was hurting Potter like he was hurting all over. Potter would punch him now, he was sure. He waited for the thrill of it, he’d take it all, every punch, he’d bleed in that doorway and it would be fine. If he did not punch him he’d surely hex him or curse him, his magic would make him bleed open, or finally burn him to the ground. Maybe this time he’d be left to die, there. Whatever Potter did he was going to _touch_ Draco, to hurt him, to _do_ something…

For a time, only silence answered him. They weren’t even breathing. He turned his head slightly to face Potter, their faces almost touching. But Potter wasn’t moving. Draco wasn’t ready for the green eyes to change so quickly from anger to something else he couldn’t name. Nor was he ready for his answer.

‘ _You’re_ no longer a Death Eater, Malfoy,’ Potter said in a low tone, his every word filled with such unnamed emotions that Draco felt like he was drowning, his chest pressed under something heavy. ’So, if you’re talking about _your_ _cock_ \- or _your heart_ , if you even have one, ‘cause right fucking now I don’t even know - I’ve already stated my interest. And you’re _not_ interested in _anything_ I have to give you, you said it so yourself, so just leave.’

Potter turned and then closed the door violently behind him.

Draco felt thunderstruck. He bolted mindlessly after Potter, catching at empty air. He heard a loud bang from inside the house and then Potter’s steps behind the door, mad, disoriented.

Something ripped inside him, teared him down, broke him apart. He gripped hard at the door fighting the urge to throw up, but then he couldn’t anymore. His stomach contracted violently and he doubled over. He threw up, shaking, cold sweat dripping down his back, the whole street disappearing before his eyes.

He stood there, trying to hold himself up against the door, until he could no longer hear Potter’s steps, his breath heavy, his heart too loud. He drew out his wand, his shaky hand paler than ever and cleaned the mess, feeling the street around him spin wildly, lights flickering before his eyes.

Potter was right. He really was a _sick heartless bastard_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4 months ago I started writing this story. My life was turned upside down, I had moved out, was (am) battling depression, ended two relationships, struggled with therapy and medication (still) and started writing fiction again after a 7 year pause. 130 pages later I'm reaching the end of this story (in writing, not in posting it here), it's not finished yet and I'm now going on to the most difficult chapters. But I never in my life imagined myself capable of writing so many pages of fanfiction in English - not my first language. I read so many stories and never thought I could do it. Then I was hit by depression and heartbreak and I started to write, it was just a paragraph at first... Harry, after the War, still having nightmares. Draco still cold and lost and in pain. My pain became theirs and for these past months not a day went by where I didn't open the story to add something, to keep writing. I realised this would never happen if I hadn't been through the worse months of my life. I just hope I can keep writing, because maybe, just maybe, writing is my life. And yes, I'm going to finish this story, it's almost all ready.
> 
> This was just something else I wanted to share with you, and if you've read me thus far, can I ask you for a comment or kudos? How was this chapter? :*


	19. Chapter 19

_"Where did you go?_  
_Where did you go?_  
_Where did you go?"_  
**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds to Mars**  

The Ministry was quiet and empty as was to be expected at that time of the night. Draco found himself at their office, not yet fully aware of why he was there.

He just needed to do something, something about the case, now, it could not wait a minute longer. They’d waited too long. He had to find the killer or die trying and the clue must have been right in front of him all along, it had to be. They were the best, he had been the _best_ at the MACUSA training program and since then he’d gotten even better, and it wasn’t for nothing. He could solve this, their most difficult case, right now, just be done with it, catch the bastard, end it.

The alcohol was getting out of his system, either by effect of the potion he’d hastily drank when he’d Apparated home - taking the risk of getting splinched did not seem to matter to him anymore - or by effect of his sheer will, he did not know. Maybe the rain had also helped. He’d decided to walk to the Ministry under the heavy rain that had started falling, not bothering with drying spells. He was drenched, but the rain and the walk had given him the time he needed to make a decision. He needed to stay cold, sober up, solve this pending case right now and be gone.

He’d tried everything else to keep Potter away. He’d tried cold, heartless, annoying, downright cruel. He’d kept his walls up, he’d rebuilt them every time they failed him - because he really wasn’t strong enough to keep them up. He was weak, he couldn’t fight it all the time, not when Potter kept sticking around, kept staying and staying, and caring, and trying again… He’d long decided to hurt Potter. Hurt him bad. It wasn’t actually a decision, it was more of a last resort option, one he’d take almost unconsciously, every time he turned his back on Potter, every time he’d refused to talk about their slips, every time he’d made Potter crash fully against his walls. But then, it had become even worse, it wasn’t just the walls, he realised he needed to really, really be a bastard. He’d done so, more than once. The problem was he could feel the pain he gave Potter like his own, he’d felt it for years and still he’d pressed further on, pushing Potter to the limit, thinking, hoping, he would choose to get away from him. He’d finally see Draco for the worthless bastard he really was. He’d treat Draco like a waste of space, of time - of fucking everything, really - and then Draco could just leave. He’d finally be assured of the single truth of all this: he would never be good enough for Potter. But another twisted part of him didn’t know if that was really the outcome he was hoping for, because sometimes there was a thin voice inside him that hoped against hope Potter would be the one to destroy his walls. That he’d keep fighting, that he’d fight for Draco, because that’s what Harry did. He always fought. But he’d known for years now this was fucked up. No one could be charged with saving another person from themselves. Draco had to do it for himself, not wait around for his saviour in fucking shining Auror armour or something. He had to be his own saviour but he didn’t know how to do that. So instead, in a fucked up twisted sense of humour, he was destroying Harry and himself along the way. He carried this blame with him everywhere. He couldn’t live with it anymore.

From where he stood, there were only two options, he thought again, harshly, mind cold and numb, as rational as it could get. He sat on his chair, facing his desk, not looking over at Potter’s desk on the other side.

One of the options had been always in the back of his mind, even during the War and he’d somehow learned to live with it, knowing he always had that as a backup plan if all else failed. It made him feel strangely safe, to have that last option, tucked neatly inside him. Whenever it hurt too much he always went back to it. Whenever he turned his back on Potter… he thought of turning his back on everything. Luna’s silvery steady eyes were suddenly on him, inside his mind, and he flinched. He wasn’t brave like her. He couldn’t see the world like she could, couldn’t love like she did: openly, trusting. He wasn’t brave like Harry Potter. He couldn’t embrace the world Potter had given them all, filled with possibilities. He’d never been the brave one, the strong one, the one who picked the hardest path, the one to make the difficult choice, the one to risk it all. The only times he felt a little bit closer to that were when he fought Dark wizards alongside Potter. And that had to go if he wasn’t going for the first option. He had to give that up.

Luna wouldn’t be pleased, but at least she would, in time, understand. He hoped. He’d leave England and this time for good. He’d go where Potter couldn’t find him even if he tried, even if he searched the whole world. Well, he probably wouldn’t, at least not after what Draco had done that night. He knew he’d crossed every line. He’d be out of Potter’s life. Potter would get over it. He’d gotten over worse, after all. As for him… he’d never get over Potter and that was why he needed to leave.

But first things first. He unlocked his desk drawer and took out the file he needed, fiddling hastily through the pages. He stopped, finding what he was searching for. He stared in concentration at the note in his hands. The truth must have been there all along. They knew which code had been used already, he’d be able to find the meaning, to break this case… He just needed to forget about Potter, eradicate him from his mind and think like the Death Eater he’d once been.

The hearth behind him crackled loud in the empty Ministry. He turned on his chair to face the flames and found the head of his MACUSA cryptography contact there, looking urgently at him.

‘Hey Malfoy. I’ve been trying to contact you. We finally broke it.’

A rush of adrenaline went through him, suddenly wiping out all thoughts of Potter from his mind. He got up fast, listening intently.

As he stood there, hands shaking, gripping hard at the back of his chair, he thought only of the immense irony of this moment: the killer had presented him with the solution to all his problems.

He did not even move to take notes of what his contact was telling him. The message was quite clear and simple. The suspect wanted to meet him. Draco cast a _Tempus_. The meeting was in half an hour, in an abandoned warehouse in the outskirts of London. If they hadn’t cracked the code now and hadn’t been able to reach him, the opportunity would have been lost. The universe seemed to be giving him a sign. The head of his MACUSA colleague hadn’t even disappeared from the hearth when Draco turned towards his desk, shoving the note he was still holding inside his pocket, his mind made up. He was going there and he would end this tonight. Without Potter.

This meeting was in all certainty a trap. The killer wanted to murder him and was luring him, knowing somehow he wouldn’t say no. Well, the killer was right. He clearly was the next on the killer’s list. And knowing this made him even more determined. He was ready.  

He didn’t know the warehouse, but he knew the general area, having raided it several times with Potter. He fixed his mind to it.

Turning on the spot, he chanced one last look at Potter’s desk, at his turned chair, scattered papers, everything looking as if he’d just left a minute ago, the lingering scent of him still in the air.

Then, he picked up his wand and Disapparated. The loud crack echoed in the silent walls after he left. 

*******

Harry had waited for the break of dawn in his living room, still wearing only his jeans, unable to sleep, unable to go back to his room where the man he had shagged was asleep on his bed. He’d broken his every rule that night.

He’d banged the door on Malfoy and then he’d punched his fist on the wall of his living room, trying to find some release in the pain that coursed through him. His knuckles were bruised, but there was no relief. He’d paced up and down the room, cursing Malfoy, cursing himself for caring, cursing them both for these seven years of maddening want. He only stopped when the china inside the cupboards clinked dangerously all around him, magic crackling in the air. He reeled it in and as he did so everything from that night hit him so violently he gripped at the wall for support.

He’d gone back to the door, barely minutes from closing it. To do what, he didn’t know, he felt out of his mind. It didn’t matter, Malfoy was already gone. He’d cursed again, his heart hammering on his chest as he leaned on the wall, trying as hard as he could to calm down, to stop his shaking arms from trembling. _Let the bastard get splinched, I don’t fucking care if he fucking gets himself killed_ , he thought, but he knew this was just his own hurt talking. He hated himself for caring, but still he did. He cared for Malfoy more than he dared to admit.

As the hours drew by he could not shake of the feeling that something was wrong. Guilt was eating him out, devouring him. He sat on the floor of his living room, his back against the wall, unable to stand, unable to stop his racing thoughts from wrecking him from the inside. In all the years he’d known Malfoy, they’d never hurt each other more than that exact night. He kept seeing Malfoy’s eyes as he almost strangled him, those death driven eyes. Those eyes weren’t hopeless anymore, like they’d been for such a long time, they were… hoping to forget. To _die_. This knowledge sunk heavily into him as, hours later, he paced his room to exhaustion.

Morning came and he was still there, sleepless, exhausted, nerve-wrecked, cold. As he hastily dressed, he found some excuse to make the man from the night before leave, without even glancing twice at him. It was as if a hand was closing around his heart, tightening hard. He was desperate enough to try and Apparate to Malfoy’s apartment and as soon as he thought it, he was doing it.

It did not even occur to him how weird it was that Malfoy’s home wards allowed him in. The whole flat was silent. He went through every room, looking for something, anything, that might tell him where Malfoy was. There was a vial of potion on the table in the living room. His heart sank at the sight of it. Malfoy would be one to have potions for every occasion… even to go to sleep and never come back from it. Heart hammering, Harry picked it up, smelled it. Hangover potion. Relief washed over him, so intensely he almost felt sick from it. If Malfoy had drank this maybe he was alright. Still something gripped hard inside him, as he Disapparated again.

Their office was empty. At this time Malfoy would always be there already. Harry looked round, the uneasy feeling pressing his chest. It felt like he was underwater. He looked around for something, he did not know what, some type of clue. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. He should never had let him out of his sight.

Malfoy had been there, that much was clear. His chair was backed away from the desk and he always left it neatly in place. He looked at the always impeccably tidy desk and the things that were out of place immediately caught his eye. The drawer where Malfoy kept  the most important files was open. A file was on the desk. Harry picked it up, knowing already which file it was, knowing already that Malfoy had picked it up not long time ago. He had been sitting there, alone.

Harry fiddled through the file, hoping to be wrong, hoping to find it intact, but something was missing. The note the killer had left them. They had copies but Malfoy had kept the original. It wasn’t there anymore. The chair was slightly turned… towards the hearth. The sense of foreboding hit him. The code had been broken and Malfoy was gone. He’d gone after the killer _alone_.

Harry’s heart raced and his mind followed. He needed to reach the MACUSA contact immediately, he needed to… he suddenly caught sight of something moving. His wand was at the ready in a heartbeat and he looked straight up. His breath caught on his throat.

An eerie silver animal had entered the room and was prancing towards him. Harry could not breathe or think. The dazzling Patronus advanced on him and it turned its elegant, proud head towards him. Silver almond-shaped eyes stared into Harry’s and almost blinded him. Harry stared mutely at the antlers. It was a stag.

Draco Malfoy’s voice broke the silence like shattering glass, yanking Harry out of his trance. He realised his heart was thundering madly on his chest, trying to get out. The world had stopped making any sense.

‘I’ve found him, I can’t hold him much longer. Call for backup. Come now.’

Harry wanted to move but couldn’t. His body was refusing to obey him. Malfoy’s voice was still filling the room and him with dread. He registered the address with some part of his Auror trained mind, because all other parts of him could not register anything other than the dazzling stag Patronus in front of him. He needed to move now, some part of his brain was screaming the urgency of this.

Ron’s sudden voice at the door made him snap violently out of it.

‘What’s your Patronus doing here? What’s wrong?’

Harry looked beyond the Patronus already starting to vanish between them and his mind cleared so suddenly he felt the world coming violently into focus again, sharpened colours and edges everywhere. Blood was rushing through his ears, his head was pounding in sync with his hammering heart. _Draco_. He was in danger.

‘It’s…’ his throat was so dry he fought to get the next words out. ‘It’s _not mine._ We have to go. Call Hannah. Call everyone.’

‘What?…’ but Ron knew this look on Harry’s face all too well. Comprehension dawned on him fast as it could. He took out a coin from his pocket, pointed his wand at it and wrote the address Harry told him, calling all Auror teams for backup.

‘I don’t know the place, but I know the park closest to it,’ Harry said.

‘Right.’

Ron grabbed his arm and they both Disapparated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are heartwarming :) Thank you so much for keeping reading and waiting on the chapters. I've met some wonderful people since posting this story here, and shared so many insights and emotions. Thank you so much for that.


	20. Chapter 20

_"Tell me would you kill to save a life?_  
_Tell me would you kill to prove you're right?"_  
**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds To Mars**

_  
No no no no no. Please don’t be dead. Draco..._

The world seemed different from what he remembered. He’d like to say he registered as he turned right, then left, wand at the ready, Ron on his heels, but he didn’t. His mind had focused itself on a single goal and his body seemed to be on overdrive, magic coursing through his veins, right down his arms, exploding on his hands and fingertips. His wand felt light on his hand, dispensable even, but he knew it wasn’t. He could direct all of this through it, for maximum precision and effect, but for now they needed to enter the warehouse unnoticed. They were almost there.

His senses seemed intensely sharpened, colors coming into focus so violently it almost hurt his eyes. They were moving stealthily but still his ears could pick up on every swish of their robes, the faint noise of their boots on the pavement. Left, right, right again. The cold morning air was filling his lungs, sharp, fast. Left. Right.  

He got there first and stood hidden away from the windows, hastily taking in every possible entrance from this side of the building. His trained mind took in the general picture, but he knew Ron was standing behind him taking in the details.

There was something more important he needed to do and for that he needed his whole concentration. They moved along the wall towards one of the back entrances. He vaguely realised Hannah, Ron’s partner, was there too, before he cleared his mind of everything, attuning it to one single purpose.

He stopped, leaning against the wall and closed his eyes. His mind burst open, emptying itself of any thought, making way to take in Malfoy’s. He waited, clear, blank, no thoughts, nothing in the way, just a slight sense of himself that Malfoy always picked up on and followed through. He waited. Any time now. He kept still, but his concentration broke from the sheer absence of what he was waiting for. He tried again, straining to keep it empty, but again nothing came. He found only emptiness where Malfoy’s mind always had been. His heart sank and then rose rapidly, blood rushing through his ears. He couldn’t feel Malfoy’s mind anywhere. His whole body tensed and he was dimly aware that Ron was talking to him in hushed urgent tones.

There wasn’t any time left. His training overrode everything else. He waited for Ron’s sign on the other side of the door. Hannah unbolted the door and the three of them entered the building silently, wands at the ready.

Inside, everything was dark. Hannah went left, and Ron right, and Harry moved after Ron, the only sounds now reaching his ears coming from his frantic heart. _Draco_. In a last effort, Harry spread his mind open, tearing all walls down, making it a blank clear page for Malfoy to step in. He wasn’t breathing, wasn’t moving or seeing, he was a blank page of an unwritten book, spread open, Malfoy would come, would feel him, would step in and would show Harry where he was in that immense warehouse...

Ron’s voice reached him from somewhere but he took some time to grasp the meaning of the words.

‘Harry, the suspect. Malfoy got him.’

Harry turned wildly on the spot and moved in the darkness to where the source of Ron’s voice was coming from. Ron’s wand had cast _Lumos_ and the light was falling on a man, lying on the floor, apparently stunned by multiple strong spells and incarcerated. Unconscious. Harry barely glanced at him, the killer they’d been following from months on end. Suddenly it did not seem to matter anymore.

‘Clear,’ Hannah’s voice reached his ears, from behind them. ‘There’s no sign of Malfoy. I sent the teams searching all floors. Maybe he got away in time.’

_No._

‘He’s here. I know he is,’ it was his own voice but he did not recognize it.

Hannah stood by the suspect, keeping watch, but Ron started after him, saying something he did not listen to. His mind had to be empty. Empty. _He was empty._ _A vessel. Nothing._ His mind went blank at once. Blindly, he turned his back on the stunned killer.

He stopped on his tracks. A stir. So soft. A spot. Slight. On his blank page. Harry’s eyes shot open but he wasn’t seeing what was in front of him. He was looking at a blurred form, something like a ceiling, smudged, traces of humidity in it. Part of the ceiling was giving in, it appeared.

It was as if the whole world was suddenly in slow motion because he was moving too fast. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling, searching for the same image he was seeing on his mind, Ron falling out behind him, as he sped up, his _Lumos Maxima_ reaching the corners of the warehouse. The air reaching his lungs wasn’t enough, the thumping of his heart was too loud on his ears.

 _No no no no no. Please, Draco, don’t you fucking dare to die on me._   

The blurred ceiling was dissolving. Harry moved faster, his steps now echoing louder. And then his eyes found what they were looking for, that specific stretch of ceiling and his heart collapsed. Under it, Draco Malfoy was lying in a pool of blood.

Past and present crashed into him as he ran over and sunk down, his knees violently hitting the floor and his trousers and robes starting to drench in blood. _Please don’t be dead, please, please. Draco, please._ There was a gash across Draco’s chest, ripping his clothes and flesh, cutting him right there, on the same spot his heart was. The smell of blood almost made Harry sick and he shook, leaning over Draco’s limp, almost lifeless body, hands reaching to touch him. He held Draco’s body up, against his own, there was blood on his hands and blood soaking his clothes and Draco was _cold_ , so cold, the only warmth coming from the blood spurting from his chest in a constant stream… It was like in sixth year, only this time there was no-one else there to help Draco. There was so much blood, but the cut could not be too deep, otherwise he’d be dead already. Instead, Draco had, somehow, still managed to send the Patronus and had been lying there, slowly bleeding to death.

In the mere seconds since he’d reached him, Harry heard himself muttering the same incantation Snape had whispered years ago, pointing his wand at the severed skin, still holding Draco against him. _Vulnera Sanentur…_ the blood flow eased, very slowly, but steadily, until it stopped. _Vulnera Sanentur…_ the skin started to knit itself, stretching to close, dried blood marring Draco’s white skin. _Vulnera Sanentur…_ the curse had stopped. A new ugly, bright, scar covered Draco’s chest and Harry felt his eyes wet and stared at the closed ones in front of him, not daring to move, not daring to breathe.

 _Vulnera Sanentur… Vulnera…_ Harry kept repeating the incantation, even though he knew it was no use. There was nothing else for him to do.

‘Draco, you can’t die. Draco, please, it’s not over yet. Please... don’t leave me.’

He was muttering, he didn’t even know what he was saying. The grey eyes were closed and Draco felt dead in his arms. _Don’t leave me. Don’t… Draco please, don’t leave me… not you, please, not you too… I can’t lose you... Draco..._

‘They’re coming from St. Mungo’s. He’s not going to die, Harry,’ it was Ron’s voice. Harry had forgotten he was even there.

He did not take his eyes from Draco’s face, still holding him close. There were noises around him now, people moving, talking. He blocked everything out and forced his mind open and empty for Draco… And Draco was still there, clinging to Harry within an inch of his life, he wasn’t dead, no matter what his body felt like. Or how cold he felt under Harry’s hands. Or how white his lips looked. Or how much blood he’d lost. He could still feel him, faintly holding onto his mind. _Draco, don’t leave me. I’m so sorry, I never meant to say that. I never… Draco, please… I shouldn’t have let you go._ Harry dropped his head and placed his mouth against the cold forehead. Draco was so cold. So _cold_ … something broke inside Harry, and the pain of it almost blinded him.

_Please, don’t leave me._

It was like a prayer. His only prayer. His face was wet, he didn’t know why.

Ron was talking to him. Someone was trying to take Draco away from him and he would never allow it. He gripped harder at Draco’s body and tried to fight them, whomever they were, not seeing, not listening. He was yanked away from Draco by someone strong, forcefully pulling him away and then throwing their whole weight on him. Magic burst violently from him, ready to hit and take everything in its way, but it stopped dead as he caught sight of Ron, panting and slamming him against a wall, face red from the effort.

‘Bloody hell, Harry, let them do their job!’ Ron was screaming at him, but Harry looked past him, at the Healers moving around Draco.

He took a step towards them but Ron stopped him, strong hands on his shoulders and his worried face came finally into focus.

‘Harry, stop getting in their way. Let the Healers take care of him.’

‘I… I can’t… I have to…’ he knew he wasn’t making any sense, his glasses were smudged, his face wet. He took off the glasses and brushed his eyes harshly, angrily, with the back of his hand and sleeve. It was no use.

‘Mate, I know,’ Ron said. ‘I _know_ ,’ he repeated, and Harry just stared back. He still couldn’t quite grasp why his face was so wet, why he couldn’t think clearly. ‘He’ll be okay, but you need to let them take him.’

He forced himself to nod. He had his mind open, the faint stir of Draco was still there. He tried to breathe, watching as the Healers worked on Draco, applying Dittany and working healing charms on him. Ron’s hands were on his shoulders, to reassure him, but also to keep him in place. Harry didn’t blame him. He forced himself to stay put, feeling for the pulse of gentle connection with Draco’s mind… If it was still there, he could rest…

But with a frantic heartbeat, the spot on his mind flashed faintly once and then disappeared. His mind went completely blank.

Someone was gripping hard at his shoulders, pushing him back against the wall, forcing him to stay there, but he wouldn’t, couldn’t. No amount of strength could keep him there. He felt his magic building up and slashing out of control, spiraling upwards. There was pain, he couldn’t see, the Healers were a blur of movement.

Draco was gone, he was alone and someone screamed. A strangled, low, scream. He never realised it was his own scream he was hearing.

Then everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this update took forever, but I hope it was all worth it. I'll be spacing the updates (maybe two weeks between each chapter?). Please don't kill me - I have two good reasons: I'm writing the ending chapters and I want to write them with all my heart, like the rest of this story, so I need to sit with them, with the characters, with the feelings. I go back to what I've written several times and it gets deeper every time. I want you to have the best of my writing and that's what I'm going to give. Those who have been reading this story know this is not just entertainment - I want it to mean more, and it does to me, so time is important, it makes things matter in the story, it makes me write better (also don't want to post because I feel self-pressured to - I want to post when it's the best I can offer you and me). Also, my wonderful beta @Epoxide has her exams now and she's grappling with that and giving me her full support and attention and I refuse to post without her previous reading. She's wonderful and she spots my mistakes and gives me so much insight that she's quite part of this process so for me to give you the best she has to read it before. I'm writing the hardest chapter ever now, but the good news is all the other chapters are almost finished :D
> 
> Comments from everyone are so welcome. And thank you for all the kudos you've been leaving. It's so important whenever we take the time to show others they're appreciated. <3
> 
> SPOILERS AHEAD (even though pretty general, non-specific, obvious and predictable by now, but don't read if you HATE SPOILERS - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED). 
> 
> I know things look pretty bad in this chapter but I can promise you all the happiness for these two boys. So, those of you who are suckers for a happy ending, you will be more than pleased when I'm finished with you. And I mean it - I'm a Hufflepuff (like it doesn't show) and a helpless romantic so be warned that there will be such happiness ahead and romantic Draco - YES - that you'll die from it (but come back to read more). So don't kill me if this is looking too painful, because they will be reaching even more pain in two chapters from this, and then... well, then, I'll give you the best romantic filthy smutty porn I'm able to write and imagine - believe me I won't stop at anything to make them have everything my mind dreams they should.
> 
> For those who have read this babbling, thank you for keeping up :)


	21. Chapter 21

_"The prayers that we have prayed were like a drug"_  
**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds to Mars**

Harry came back to his senses, his body stiff and in pain. His eyes shot open. He didn’t have his glasses on, everything was blurry, but still he recognized the familiar long white corridor from his many visits there: St. Mungo’s, fourth floor, Spell Damage.

‘Hello, Harry,’ said a worried voice he knew so well, coming from his side. A hand handed him his glasses and he put them on, turning to face a pair of brown eyes, blazing and intent, on him. Ginny was there. Luna was sitting at her side, eyes filled with tears, holding Ginny’s hand in hers. The sudden image of Draco bleeding to death was brought violently back to him. The corridor spun fast in front of him and he felt something burn behind his eyes. Something warm, something unavoidable. His hands curled into fists, his nails biting into his skin. He launched himself off the chair, looking wildly around. Ron was walking fast over to him, Hermione behind him. His friends were all there. They were Draco’s friends too. _Their_ friends.

‘Where’s Draco? He’s not...’ but he could not bear to finish it out loud. All eyes were on him, blue, silver and both different shades of brown, and the silence suddenly sounded too loud, crashing down on him.

‘They took him inside,’ said Hermione’s quiet voice, contrasting with his own. ‘They’re still taking care of him. We don’t have any news, yet,’ she had walked over to him. Harry noticed her eyes. She had been crying. ‘Harry, you got there in time, you used the counter curse, he won’t…’ but something on his face made her fall silent.

‘I have to speak to the Healers,’ he said firmly, turning his back on her. He could not look at any of them anymore.

‘You’re not going anywhere,’ said Ginny and he froze at her tone. No one could make him stop dead on his tracks like she could.

He turned to face her, she hadn’t moved from her chair but her wand was pointed at him, her eyes hard.

‘After what you did, it took some convincing for them to _allow_ you in here. We had to vouch that you wouldn’t lose it again and make their work impossible, so you’re just gonna stay put and let them do their job, otherwise I’ll make good on my promise to them and hex you into oblivion,’ she looked every bit serious about it and then she added. ‘You know I’m not as gentle as my brother over here.’

Ron made an uncomfortable noise with his throat.

‘Harry, I’m sorry, I had to _Stun_ you. You lost it, mate.’

‘Why didn’t you _Rennervate_ me immediately?’ Harry asked, and he knew that right now he sounded every bit the Auror he was. He wanted some answers and he wanted them right fucking now.

‘We thought it better to just let it…’ Ron looked sideways at Ginny. ‘... wear off.’

Harry rounded on Ginny, feeling despair clutching at his chest.

‘So, we’re just gonna stay here and do nothing?’ He knew his voice was too loud for a hospital wing but he couldn’t care. Blood was rushing through his ears, he felt sick and somehow the white walls seemed to be closing in on him. He needed to do something fast. ‘Want me to wait around for him to die, is that it?’

Hermione flinched, and stifled a sound with her hand and Ron moved closer to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Luna’s eyes were on Harry, still streaming with tears, but Ginny held his gaze evenly.

‘Are you a Healer, Harry?’ she asked, without even raising her voice, eyes unwavering.  ‘No, you’re _not_. _They_ are, and they’re doing their best to save your _partner_. Let them. We’ll know soon,’ somehow she’d made the word partner stand out weirdly but Harry’s mind was unable to linger much on it.

His stomach gave a lurch and again he felt like he was going to be sick. Thoughts were hammering and crashing inside him, wave after wave of unconstrained emotion. He was trying hard to keep control of it, and somehow having Ginny’s wand pointed at him was helping in keeping his magic under check. He stared blankly at her, without even seeing her.

‘We have to warn his family, his mother at least. I have to owl Narcissa Malfoy, there must be owls in here, I’ll write her a note, tell her to be here…’

‘I’ll go there, Harry,’ Luna said quietly. ‘To Malfoy Manor. It’s faster this way, I’ll get her,’ she cleaned her tears with the back of her hand. Ginny kissed her gently on the lips, and caressed her cheek.

‘Are you sure, love?’

‘Yes,’ Luna replied, and then she stood up and left through the door, probably to _Disapparate_ on the reception floor.

Harry stared at her empty seat, heart racing. Only then did he notice his hands were shaking, still covered in dried blood, as were his robes. The sight of it brought back the image of Draco bleeding to death on his arms, heavy and so still… eyes shut. The corridor swept fast in front of his eyes and he grasped the wall for support, smudging the perfect white with dark red stains.

‘Harry?’ Hermione’s voice was too far away. She grabbed his arm and he almost yanked her hand away, only stopping dead because that was Hermione and she’d been crying and she was worried and did not deserve his frustration thrown on her face.

‘Please, don’t,’ he said, his voice strained. She removed her hand slowly. He leaned against the wall, not trusting his balance as the corridor kept spinning in front of his eyes.

_It’s all my fault. I told him I would make him bleed and he went there alone. To die._

There was a reason Aurors always worked in teams. He should have been there. Draco never should have gone there alone. And he, Harry, he had known something was wrong the minute he’d seen those death driven eyes. He knew Draco was on the killer’s list for sure, he should never had let him out of his sight. He should never had let Draco leave his door, not when he was so drunk and deranged. He should never had said such an horrible thing. “ _I’ve made you bleed once, don’t make me do it twice.”_ How fucked up was that? It was all his fault. Being forced to wait, doing nothing, was thoroughly driving him out of his mind.

He covered his face with his hands, trying to block out the corridor’s too white, too bright lights, feeling his friends’ eyes on him, as he only kept seeing Draco bleed out. Maybe Draco was dying right now. Maybe he was already dead.

‘It’s not your fault, mate,’ Harry felt Ron looking at him. His voice echoed on the long corridor.

‘No use in telling him that, you know him. He’ll believe it’s his fault. He always does,’ said Hermione in a resigned tone.

Harry wondered how unhinged he was looking for Hermione to be talking like he wasn’t even there. He wanted to scream, to punch the wall, to do something or he’d break apart. Instead he just forced himself to stay put, his body filled with tension, the smell of blood seemingly etched on his skin.

He opened his eyes and was relieved to see that Ginny still held her wand, no longer pointing it at him, but ready to do so at any moment. He was strangely grateful for it, he did not trust himself to not lose it again.

‘I wasn’t there for him,’ he whispered suddenly, to no one in particular. ‘I’m his partner and I wasn’t there to protect him. If I had been...’

‘It could have ended the same, or worse. Could’ve been you in there,’ said Ron, cutting him off. He looked grave, which he almost never did. Harry averted his eyes and stared mutely at his bloodied robes, dark stains covering the fabric.

‘He probably wishes he was,’ Ginny said in the silence that followed.

 _Thump_. That was his heart. Apparently, it was still working, even though he didn’t know how. He looked up in time to watch Hermione press her lips together as she usually did when she was trying to bite down some well known truth. It was plainly clear that she agreed.

‘Stop it,’ Harry snapped. He could not take an intervention, not right now. But Hermione’s eyes were set on him and he knew this time she wouldn’t be deterred.

‘It’s true Harry. You can’t tell us to shut up every time we talk about this. That’s not how friendship works. We know you probably wish that whatever hit him had instead caught you. You’d take that curse for him, every curse, for that matter.’

‘Hell, you’d die for him, wouldn’t you?’

 _Thump._ It was Ron. He was staring hard at Harry and he’d never spoken with such bluntness. It had been a long time since Harry had seen him look like that. Dead worried.

‘You’ve done it before, for all of us, we were there, Harry, you think we’ve forgotten?!’ Ron went on. ‘That’s what you do. Well, this time _he_ did it. He went there to finish this, to stop this murderer.’

He stared mutely from Ron to Hermione, feeling hazy, then felt Ginny’s eyes on his face, searching, knowing the truth…

‘You’d give everything to spare him that - to spare anyone you love, as a matter of fact. Because you... care for him,’ Ginny said, watching for the effect of her words on his face. ‘You care so much about him.’

Not trusting his words or his actions, he said nothing. His heart seemed to have left somewhere, he couldn’t feel anything. He stared mutely at the door, waiting for the Healers. Waiting on anything, _anything_. Anything to stop him seeing Draco bleeding out.

‘Harry…’

‘No, Ginny, don’t. Please. _Please_.’

They all went silent. He knew Ginny wasn’t finished yet, she was only biding her time. An hour passed. Two hours passed. Then he lost track. Ron gave up telling him to sit down, Hermione had given up an hour ago trying to convince him to eat something she had picked up from the hospital’s cafe.

His heart bawled up inside him as a door at the end of the corridor opened, but it was Narcissa Malfoy, with Luna at her side. She walked slowly over to them. So many new lines had formed on her face since Harry had last seen her. She looked like someone who had long lost her will to live, but still did, without really knowing why. Maybe she, too, was waiting on something. _Someone_.

‘How’s my son?’ Narcissa asked, in a very quiet voice. She looked straight at Harry. Her eyes, even though blue, looked so much like Draco’s that Harry’s heart gave a jolt and a primitive terror took over him. Maybe he would never see the grey eyes on him again.

Someone was answering Narcissa, but he couldn’t register any of it. Guilt spread over him even more intensely at the sight of her. The presence of Narcissa Malfoy seemed to underline his pain, like they were both standing to lose something precious and none of them could do anything about it. He did not dare to examine this feeling up close, he was afraid he might collapse if he did. He looked helplessly at the other end of the corridor. The image of Draco bleeding out was engraved on his mind, past and present mingled into one. He almost didn’t notice a Healer coming out of the door and walking fast towards them.

‘Mr Malfoy is going to be fine,’ she said as preamble.

Harry felt a surge of relief so intense that he lost his balance and had to grab the wall for support, the strain of the hours standing there hitting him full force. His knees were almost giving in under him. Hermione gave him a stern look that could rival McGonagall’s. She was probably thinking about the food he refused to eat. As usual she was right, because Harry felt faint. The corridor was spinning but he forced himself to listen to the Healer.

‘His vitals were out for a few seconds, then we got him back. He lost a lot of blood, but your swift assistance was paramount,’ the Healer was saying. Harry noticed that she was purposely _not_ addressing him as she spoke. She was speaking to Ron and Hermione, who apparently she thought more civilized or less deranged than himself.

‘What’s going to happen now, Healer Thomas?’ Ron asked.

‘He’s in intensive care. He’s awake now, but still very weak. We’ll be putting him under a strong sleeping potion but if you want to see him now, we can allow two visitors in,’ at this the Healer looked pointedly at Harry. ‘ _Quiet_ visitors,’ she stressed, looking as stern as Hermione. ‘He can’t be disturbed right now.’

Harry made a quick mental note to ask Ron later for a full description of his behaviour at the warehouse. It was clear that Healer Thomas had been there and wasn’t in the least well-impressed with him.

‘I think his partner should go in, and his best friend Luna,’ Narcissa said unexpectedly, but Harry was already speaking too.

‘Mrs Malfoy, you go in. And Luna, he’ll want to see you.’

They both looked at him, there was surprise on Narcissa’s face and warm understanding on Luna’s, and then they nodded silently and walked over to another Healer waiting for them close to the white doors. They followed him in.

‘He’s going to stay in intensive care for four days,’ Healer Thomas was informing them. ‘Then, if everything goes right, he’ll be moved to another room for two more days of observation. We’ll then decide on the date of his discharge,’ she paused, looking very grave. Harry’s heart tightened. ‘I want you to understand that it’s quite a miracle that he’s even alive. His vitals were down for enough time for us to consider him beyond help, but then, somehow, he got back,’ they all stared at her, mutely. Harry’s heart seemed to have dislodged itself. ‘He’s out of immediate danger now. I suggest you all go home, get some rest. He won’t be able to have more visitors today.’

‘Yes, thank you, Healer Thomas. We’ll be here tomorrow to check on him,’ said Hermione. The Healer nodded, eyed Harry briefly like she was expecting another outburst, pursed her lips and left them.

‘I’m staying,’ Harry heard himself say, before he even thought it. He dropped heavily on the chair. He felt so tired.

Hermione merely glanced at him. She didn’t look surprised. Ron seemed about to say something but Harry cut him off.

‘I’m staying,’ he repeated stubbornly. His back was hurting, he was covered in blood, he felt dirty, exhausted and hungry, but he wasn’t going anywhere.

‘I’m staying with you,’ Ginny said and she took the chair next to him.

Hermione glanced at Ginny and a meaningful look passed between them. As usual, what that look meant was beyond Harry.

‘Well, we’re going,’ Hermione said. ‘Harry, I suggest you eat something before you pass out.’

Ron threw him a package with something to eat and he caught it in the air, thankfully.

‘Thanks. We’ll tell you if anything changes.’

‘I’ll check in at the office. We still have to report this,’ Ron threw back as they left and added. ‘I’ll floo your home and send you some clean clothes.’

He was left alone with Ginny and he braced himself for the inevitable. She looked at him, her eyes bright, unavoidable. Then, he was speaking before he even knew it. It was always like that with Ginny.

‘We had a huge fight. We both said horrible things to each other. I told him I could make him bleed again, like in sixth year. And in a way I did. He decided to go there alone. It’s my fault,’ it was even worse to say it out loud. His voice got caught on his throat, he felt like he was going to suffocate.

‘It’s not your fault. You’re not responsible, at least not in the way you think.’

He stared blankly at Ginny, not understanding. He was too tired to disagree or ask anything else.

‘Harry, don’t you see it? He went there because he wanted to prove himself worthy of _you_. This is not about the stupid fight, it’s about you two.’

 _Worthy of him? What? Why wouldn’t he be?..._ He could not, for the life of him, understand it. Or even speak. He wanted to tell her there was no ‘you two’ with them, not like she was making it sound. He wanted to tell her how fucked up he was, how his life still felt like it had been drawn out beforehand for him and he kept fulfilling stage after stage of it, no say in it anymore. He wanted to tell her how Draco had turned everything upside-down, how he’d made Harry want to have a say in it again. He wanted her to know how he kept fucking everything up around Draco, so much so that they’d never have what he’d known for years he wanted. Because he knew. He fucking knew what he wanted.

He wished he could tell her how much it hurt, how he couldn’t take it anymore, how he could not get closer but was unable to keep away, how, in all those years, he still didn’t know what to do whenever he was around Draco, how he - for all his famous bravery - had never been able to tell Draco what he really felt. He wanted to tell her how Draco made him feel alive, how he challenged him, how working with him kept Harry more sane than he’d dared to hope, how Draco kept showing him, without intending, that there was still something worth living for, but then taking it away from him, so he’d have only mere glances of a life that could have been. He wanted to tell her about Draco’s walls, how they collapsed but always came back, keeping him away. And he wanted to tell her how it killed him to know Draco was in pain, that he’d felt it as his own for years, that he knew Draco wished for death, that he lived in fear of him taking his own life, that the thought of Draco not living terrified him more than anything, that this sense of hopelessness reminded him of the War, that the War had never left, that he believed it never would...

It was too much. His eyes were burning, and Ginny took his hand in hers. She nudged her thumb over his fingers, soothingly, but when she spoke her words weren’t soft or comforting. They were direct and unavoidable.

‘Harry, this has got to stop. Just tell him you’re fucking in love with him,’ he felt pinned down by her intense eyes, trapped in them. He couldn’t breathe. ‘What else is it going to take? One of you dying? I’ll not stand for this nonsense, you’re both grownups, just deal with your fucking feelings so you can fuck each other and stop fucking each other’s lives.’

Ginny was always so blunt, her words hit him like a train. His heart slammed wildly inside his chest.

‘What?!’ he stuttered.

‘Don’t _what_ me,’ at that precise moment Ginny looked so much like Mrs Weasley that Harry flinched under her blazing stare. ‘Gosh, Harry. Seven fucking years? Who are you kidding? Yourself? Him? Because you’re not kidding anyone else. We’re all tired of knowing it, fuck, we’re all just waiting around for you both to admit it. You thought you’d lost him today and the least you can do is fucking admit how much you care, how much you love him.’

His breath was heaving, he felt cornered, he couldn’t think. He wanted out of the corridor, wanted Ginny’s eyes to look away, to stop reading so much into him, he wanted her to unsay what she’d said, she had no right to speak it out loud, like that… after all the effort he’d done to keep this inside, to keep it bottled up, she had no right to say it, no right to make it that much more _real_... they all knew… he was shaking, his mind racing.

‘Why? To what end?’ he asked, because he couldn’t see the point. He couldn’t see the point in any of it anymore. But he couldn’t deny what she had said, either.

‘For yourself,’ she said very simply and seriously. ‘Harry James Potter, you’re fucking in love with Draco Malfoy.’

It was as if something splintered his whole body in two. Her words rang loudly inside his head, he fought a long breath out, it came out ragged. His chest hurt. _This was it._

‘How much longer are you going to wait to let him know?’ she didn’t stop for an answer. Harry wondered how long she’d been meaning to lay this on him. ‘I’m not gonna tell you the War is over, because I know it never ended for you, but I’ll tell you this: _your life is worth being lived_. Draco is out there. He’s alive because _you_ got there in time and _you_ are still alive too because he’s saved you countless times,’ she paused, waiting for him to look at her. He did. ‘I never thought I’d say this, but if you are able to keep each other alive, even though you’re both still living your own war, maybe you’re _good to each other_. So stop fucking it up. Make the most of being alive.’

 _Well, there, she’d said it all, hadn’t she?_ That was exactly what Harry had been afraid of. It was as if he’d been filling up a dam inside him and suddenly it couldn’t take anymore. No more feelings, no more pain, no more longing, no more wanting, no more... love. He was filled to the brim.

‘His _Patronus_ is a stag, Gin,’ he said in a small, wrecked voice.

And then, just like that, he broke apart and everything he’d fought so hard to keep bottled up came bursting out. He realised he was crying, harder than he had done in a long time, against her shoulder, desperate, torn and hopeless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts, comments, hugs? Let me know how you feel about this chapter.  
> As I said before, the posting frequency will be slower now, but I hope you'll still be there to reach the end of this story together with me :) Thank you so much for all your comments and kudos so far, you've helped me feeling less alone!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, a new chapter :)  
> Thanks again to my beta MiyuTanemura for editing, reading, suggesting and cheering me on through all this. And thanks to you for being so patient and keep commenting even though I've been posting more slowly.

_"The love we had..."_  
**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds To Mars**

Draco opened his eyes. The white, now familiar, ceiling was the first thing he saw. The second was Healer Thomas’ head, coming in full view over him, her expression attentive.

‘Good evening, Mr Malfoy. How are you feeling today?’

 _Again with the same fucking question_ , Draco thought. _I’m fucking fine, never been better in my life._

Since the first day of his St. Mungo’s admission he had wished he could just jinx anyone and everyone who kept asking him that. He’d heard the question about five times a day and he was actually admired at his own patience for having endured it this long. He’d been feeling just fine after having slept for 24 hours straight on the first day, but they wouldn’t let him go, so he decided to give them the silent treatment. He always refused to answer.

Not today, though. Today they were to discharge him, so he could finally leave the damned hospital and fucking _England_ , for that matter. He lifted himself from the pillows, sitting up and answered as calmly as he could.

‘I’m fine, thanks.’

Healer Thomas eyed him with piercing eyes. Draco had no doubt she was a decent Legilimens, more than decent really, but not good enough for _him_. He smiled in what he hoped was a sincere, thankful smile any other patient might address her, and weaved a thin thread of healthy signs, keeping his mind safely guarded. It didn’t even take any effort, his smile was really sincere, he knew she’d done everything that was possible with him. Truth was, he still felt weak. His whole body hurt, it wasn’t an intense pain but it was always there, underlining his every breath. He wasn’t entirely sure it was even just physical pain. He knew that with time and a few potions of his own making that would go away… As for the rest of it, well, no one could help him with that, could they?

A crease had appeared on her brow. Well, she was very perceptive. She clearly knew he was hiding something, she just didn’t know what and he wasn’t about to clear that up for her. She proceeded to check his signs, then crossed her arms with finality.

‘Well, Mr Malfoy, you are discharged,’ he noticed the way she pressed her lips together, hesitated, then went on. ‘You can pick up your leave of absence at the reception desk. As we told you before, and taking into account the dangers of your job, we recommend you stay off work for at least a week. Meanwhile, don’t strain yourself.’

He smirked. _Don’t worry, I won’t be straining myself anymore, because I’m leaving, I’m leaving the Ministry, and England, and fucking Potter._

He started to rise from the bed, eager to dress himself in proper clothes and leave the room he’d been confined inside for days, but Healer Thomas was still looking at him. She cleared her throat.

‘Mr Potter is outside. He has been, every day, since you came in. I’ve told him everything there is to know about your recovery, but he’s… _not_ leaving,’ she looked pointedly at him, as though Draco was to be blamed for Potter’s improper behaviour.

He found he was staring back at her, open-mouthed.

‘He… what?!’

Three days prior, when he’d been moved out of intensive care to another room, he’d refused to see Potter. He’d thought that would make Potter leave the hospital and not come back again. Well, he’d been wrong. _Bloody stubborn Gryffindor._ He realised he could not avoid him, as he intended. Part of him was furious, anger against Potter from the last few days, boiling up inside him, ready to burst out. The other part of him was having problems breathing and it had nothing to do his condition or his anger. _Harry Potter was outside, waiting for him, for seven fucking days straight._ He hated the warmth that spread inside him. He wanted to lash out on someone. _On him._

‘Apparently he’s used to getting things done as he wants them. Never once in my career had I any problems in convincing someone that I was doing my job to the best of my knowledge, but not with _him_. He has been questioning me for days, and has been sleeping in the corridor, which is completely against the hospital’s rules, I might add, but him being _who he is_ our Director let it pass...’ Healer Thomas was saying, but he had stopped listening. Long ago he would have been more than willing to enter a long conversation about all of Harry Potter’s character flaws, but somehow now he couldn’t. He could barely think straight.  

‘He’s been waiting for me all this time? He never went home?’ he blurted out. ‘He’s outside, now?’

Healer Thomas watched him attentively, one eyebrow raised. Draco saw judgement and a hint of pity on her face. He wasn’t so sure his Occlumency skills were working properly at the moment. He didn’t fucking care.

‘He’s asked to see you before you leave. He won’t take no for an answer and believe me, I tried,’ she paused. ‘If you don’t want to see him I’ll tell him to leave. Again. I’ll call security if need be.’

 _It was a way out,_ he thought. A way to leave without having to face Potter. They’d never see each other again, Potter would be furious, would _hate_ him and, in time, forget him. Move on with his life. It was the simplest of solutions, but effective, so effective that even he couldn’t have planned it better. So why wasn’t he taking it?

‘I want to see him. Could you let him in?’

 _What the fuck are you doing, Draco Malfoy?_ \- a voice was screaming inside him. Was he so fucked up that he needed to see Harry, just once more, before he fucking destroyed them both? He knew the answer to his own question. The thought of not seeing him again was unbearable. He had to allow himself that. It would hurt even more afterwards, but pain be damned. After so many years, he just felt used to it.

The Healer stared at him, opened her mouth to say something, decided against it, and pursed her lips.

‘Just give me ten minutes to get dressed, please,’ he asked.

She nodded and left without another word.

He sat on the bed, trying hard to restrain his emotions, but he couldn’t. It was as if the curse that had hit him had not only bled him out, but taken from him this ability, this control he’d always had. Potter had been disrupting his control for years, but he’d always managed to get it back, one way or another. But not this time. His heart was beating too loudly inside him, he felt sick and almost feverish as he looked at the door. Harry Potter would be there in ten minutes. And he had allowed this. _Get a grip, get yourself together._

But how could he? How? He had gone to that warehouse to meet his death. That was the truth. He hadn’t believed he could take down a Dark wizard who had murdered dozens of Dark Arts traitors like him, least of all - alone. Aurors worked in teams, Potter was his partner, they were deadly as a team, _together_ , they weren’t as effective apart. He had known this, he had accepted that he was going there with nothing to lose, on a suicide mission, to stop the killer or die trying. He still had managed to stun him several times in a quick sequence, after being hit by the Sectumsempra curse. The pain had ripped him apart, he still didn’t know how he’d managed to not lose conscience on the spot. He never would have believed he’d be able to take in so much pain and not die from it. Somehow he did. He had incarcerated the suspect, even as he fell to the floor, blood streaming out of him so fast he couldn’t understand why he was still alive. It felt almost poetic to die like that, the way he'd almost died so many years ago, at Potter’s hands.

Through the haze of pain, a strange thought had creeped on him. He had thought how selfish he was for dying like that. More than that, it would be dangerous. No one knew he was there, the Aurors didn’t know he had caught the killer and by the time they got there, his spells would have worn off and the killer would have escaped. He couldn’t let that happen. Not after spending seven years fighting Dark wizards. He had to warn them. He had to warn Potter, he'd be able to arrest the killer and finally close the case. Draco would probably die. He didn’t have his Protean-charmed coin about him, to call for backup. He never carried it because he had always thought it was stupid and dispensable when he could reach his partner much more efficiently through their mental connection. He realised the major flaw in this as he watched his blood draw out of him. The mental connection only worked when they were together. He had been almost fainting, black spots smearing his vision when he thought of the Patronus.

Draco flinched at this thought, staring blankly at his own hands, clasped tightly on his lap. He felt himself diving into turbulent waters, waters of his own mind that he’d always managed to navigate securely but couldn’t anymore. He finally started to undress, very slowly and carefully. His chest was bandaged where the curse had hit and he felt the faint throb of pain there, underlying his every action. He felt trapped inside his head, afraid to look too close at all the threads of pain coursing through him. He was afraid to tug at any of those threads because if he did all the other ones would come following, entwined, and it would never end. Thread after thread after thread… the Patronus was a dangerous thread.

Draco opened the bag Luna had brought him with some clothes. He stared mutely at the neatly folded green cashmere sweater on top. He stopped breathing. _That Ravenclaw…_ He removed the sweater to reach the clothes under it. He put on a shirt and pants and realised Luna hadn't - _on purpose,_ he was sure - brought him a coat, so he'd be forced to wear the sweater or freeze. Well, he'd rather freeze. He rapidly picked up the sweater and stuffed it again inside the bag, out of sight.

But he could not escape it. He could not escape his mind, all the threads, they all lead down to _Harry_. He'd refused to think about his Patronus, but it had been too hard to do that as days went by with him trapped in that room, forced to bed rest. He had never conjured a corporeal Patronus before. He knew the spell, had tried it several times during his Auror training, but he had only managed to produce a silvery vapour that faded after a few seconds. He had had few happy memories to draw from, and then he'd just got tired of failing and stopped trying.

As he had picked up his wand from the floor, his only thought had been to reach Harry. To get him there fast. It did not surprise him that Harry’s image came so suddenly to his mind, nor did it surprise him the sheer accuracy of it. The Harry inside his mind was laughing. His head thrown back carelessly, his hair disheveled as always, his eyes almost tearing up with the force of his laugh, his cheeks forming slight dimples, his eyes green, so green… almost _Slytherin green_ , soft, like that sweater, so warm, _so fucking warm_. Harry was laughing at him, he was laughing at some biting remark of Draco’s. He remembered he could make Harry laugh. _Really laugh._ From the tip of his wand came a form... the pain was so intense at that point he thought he might lose it, the spell wouldn’t take. But the silver stag formed in front of his barely opened eyes, lifted its antlers and received his message, then jumped out of sight. The rest of it was a blur. He’d drifted in and out of conscience and accepted that he was going to die there. This time, no one was coming to save him.

But then Harry Potter did. As always. He’d felt Harry’s mind searching frantically for his, like _Lumos_ in his own darkness, and he was too frail to answer it, but somehow, some part of him, unbidden, out of his grasp, had still reached for Harry and had clung to him by a thin thread. The last traces of his mind had held onto Harry, resisting the pull of death, resisting the gentle fall he’d thought he’d welcome. It felt like that night, so many years ago, when he had held onto Harry’s waist, panic stricken, as Harry flew them away from the Fiendfyre. He’d wanted to live then, too.  

And now he felt mad. Mad for being alive. Mad because when Harry reached his mind, he found out that he wasn’t ready to leave everything behind. He had _wanted_ to live. _So, so much._ Something in him refused to die when Harry was around or when he was remembered of Harry, of his larger than life battle of survival. Everything about Harry was resilient, he never gave up, he kept going even when it seemed there was nowhere else to turn to, he kept going when it would be so much _easier_ to just accept things as they were. And that damned resilience had somehow rubbed on Draco. Worse, it was one of the many reasons he was hopelessly in love with that man. No matter how much he tried to convince himself to die, he always ended up alive. _Alive_. And Harry Potter always had something to do with it, somehow. He’d never stop owing him.

He hated Potter saving his life again. Hated him for affecting him so much. And for having the fucking nerve to call his _mother_ there. _How dare he?_ Why did he have to meddle in his affairs? He’d temporarily lost his ability to talk at seeing his mother again after so many years. Seeing Narcissa had moved him more than he'd dare to admit. Hearing her talk, worry in her every word, allowing her to touch him again, her hand brushing his hair, soft, hesitant, watching as her clear eyes fought to keep the tears in. He had gotten that from her, this ability to keep emotion out of his eyes, but they both seemed to be failing at it more and more. She asked him if she could come back to visit him again, but Draco knew she was asking so much more than that. He said yes. To everything. She smiled, just slightly, briefly, and he realised just how long it had been since he’d seen his mother smile at all. They ‘d both grown unused to it. As she left him to rest, he knew he couldn’t and wouldn’t keep her out of his life, not ever. He missed her every single day and Potter _knew_ it. He knew him better than anyone. He also hated he’d let Potter know him like this.

Draco stared at his empty hands. They somehow seemed blurry and there was something warm burning his eyes. He blinked furiously and his hands curled into fists. His heart was beating so loud he wished that that was part of his sick condition. But he knew it wasn’t. Unless he counted falling in love as a condition. Or being a sick bastard. He truly hated how, in the end, his Patronus completely bared him for all the world to see, leaving him with no more walls to hide behind. He could try and rebuild them again, but it wouldn’t matter anymore because now Harry knew what he’d fought to hide all those years. There was no way in hell he’d seen that Patronus and _not know_ Draco’s best kept secret.

Draco had his own form of resilience and as he sat there, he knew he’d reached his final decision. The pain on his chest, a pain which he knew wasn’t physical, told him his mind was set. His heart, well… he’d beat his decision into it until he drilled it through or maybe until he couldn’t feel anything anymore. He would never be more ready than now.

He put on his shoes and straightened his shirt and cuffs. He remembered only too well the feeling of Potter’s eyes on him, taking him in so thoroughly that he always felt too exposed. He hated it and couldn’t stop loving it. No one else looked at him like that. He missed it. He craved it. If he was doing this he’d better look fucking good doing it. After all, he was still Draco Malfoy, he could look good even with a massive hangover, he’d be hard pressed not to look good after a hospital stay. Half absentmindedly, he opened his shirt at the neck, bracing himself for what he was about to do.

It was his final act. The one thing he should have done a long time ago. Harry would be free to be happy. He deserved that more than anyone in the world. As for him… he’d have those green eyes on him for one last time. It had to be good enough to last him a lifetime.

There was a knock on the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Expectations? The next chapter is *all hell breaks lose*, as you can predict. It's also the biggest chapter on the fic, 20 pages! I look forward to hearing from you, what you think, feel, wonder... thank you for staying this far with the story and me :)


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this took forever, but here it is finally.  
> Warning: this is the biggest chapter so far on this story and it is *all* pain.  
> I hope with all my heart that you like it, and don't wish to kill me.

_"The love we had,_  
_we had to let it go."_  
**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds to Mars**  
  
Harry was barely conscious of what he was doing. He watched his hand knocking on the door, as if he was watching someone else’s.

‘Come in.’

Draco’s voice kickstarted his heart to a fast beating. He ordered his legs to move, his hand to push the door open, his feet to get him inside.

Draco was sitting on the bed, quiet, waiting. The grey eyes turned to face him.

_You’re here._

_You’re alive._

Both thoughts clashed in the middle of the room, soft, burning, as if none of them could stop it from happening any longer. The air inside the room shifted, it felt heavier, filled with something like excess magic, unbidden, unmolded. Draco’s thought had merely grazed his mind, evasive, then it was gone. It took him a minute to retain what it said.

Harry took two steps inside, barely noticing his own gesture to close the door behind him. For a long time he just stood there, relief and pain washing over him in a current he couldn’t stop. Draco’s eyes were on his, strangely unwavering.

Harry took in every bit of Draco he could, committing every trace of him to his memory. His white buttoned-down shirt was open at the neck and Harry’s eyes followed the thin lines of his body down. Through the thin fabric, he saw the bandaged chest, then he looked up again. Draco’s face was paler and shallower than usual, the stark features providing contrast with the soft hair falling over one of his eyes. And his eyes… they looked like a grey sky, heavy with the promise of rain. Harry tried to look away, terrified of drowning in them... But he couldn’t. He’d never been allowed to look at them like that.

Draco wasn’t looking away. He looked so frail, so tired, yet there was a hint of something in him that was still fighting, still breathing, still going, no matter what. And suddenly Harry realised that this, this something that he couldn’t name, was the one thing that made it so damn near impossible for him to give up on his dream with Draco. This frailty that never really won the fight in the end, even though it was always so close to defeating Draco. The thought did not help at all, but Harry knew he’d lost that battle with himself. He could no longer pretend, or bottle anything else inside, nor stop his own tumbling thoughts, even knowing they were probably reaching Draco. He _knew_ they were. The grey eyes bore into his, knowing, drinking him in, filling up with pain... Harry no longer had the energy to fight it.

 _You’re so fucking beautiful._ _You’re alive._

‘Don’t worry, Potter, I’m still in one piece, as you can see.’

Draco spoke fast, over Harry’s thoughts, but his voice sounded like someone else’s. There was no trace of irony it, it was as if someone had hollowed it from the inside. There should be a smirk on his face to go with that remark, but there wasn’t. Harry searched in vain for it. He tried to laugh, like he always did, lightly, freely, but found he couldn’t. There was no laugh left in him and no smirk left in Draco. How had they gotten here?

He was still standing, two steps into the room and the tension on his every limb echoed the intense effort he’d been making for the last seven days. Not acting, waiting on the same damned white corridor, accepting that Draco did not want to see him, but deciding to stay nonetheless, trying again - even though he had been sure he’d get a ‘no’ - then getting a ‘yes’ and feeling terrified out of his mind.

And now that he was here, his body seemed to be fighting to keep him in place, every form of control he might have intent on it. Because he wanted to lash. He was about to break apart. He wanted to cry and scream and plead.

He wanted to fall down on his knees in front of Draco and take his hands in his and spill out all the sleepless nights thinking of him, wanting him, going over and over in his head what he could have said or done, remembering all their drunken slips that had driven him crazy, all the pain he’d felt whenever Draco turned his back on him, all his terror at seeing him bleed again. And he wanted Draco to listen to it all, he wanted Draco’s eyes on him, acknowledging what he felt, what he’d been feeling for years. Acknowledging his pain, his want, his desperation.

And he wanted to grab Draco by his collar and scream at him, knock some sense into him, make him admit he’d been completely reckless and suicidal, make him promise he wouldn’t leave again, make him see he deserved to be alive. And he wanted to just reach out an arm and touch him, cradle Draco’s face in his hands, convince himself he was still there, that he was real, convince himself he was alive… and he wanted to kiss him and ignite them both, Apparate them out of there right fucking now, forget it all… He could just touch him… Draco’s body always answered his… It was almost unavoidable between them. Maybe they didn’t need to talk at all, maybe their bodies could do the talking, maybe he could just do what he’d wanted to do for ages and pull Draco into his arms, take his mouth in his own, kiss him, taste him, take him home, forget this… He was done fighting it. This thing between them, whatever it was, he wanted it more than anything. He didn’t want to be controlled and collected around Draco anymore, he couldn’t do it anymore…

_Stop, please, stop it. Don’t._

Draco’s thought seared through him and crushed around the pain in his chest, scattering his hurtful thoughts, at the same time Draco’s voice reached his ears.

‘Are you going to just stand there?’ Draco was asking, trying for a conversational tone that sounded way too forced, too much in contrast with his desperate, pleading thought. ‘Healer Thomas already thinks you’re a mental case. You might want to sit down.’  

Harry stared blankly at him, wishing he could come up with some sort of retort to make them just go back to their usual banter. But he couldn’t, even less when he could feel Draco on his mind, his thoughts a mess of conflicting emotions he could not begin to extrincate from his own.

_Please don’t make this even harder than it is. Please._

Draco was pleading with him. He was asking him to not do anything rash. To stay put. To keep his distance. The bitter irony of this made Harry want to laugh, but if he opened his mouth he thought he was going to cry instead, so he didn’t.

_How can it be harder than this?_

There was no answer to his thought. Draco was looking at him, his pale face taut, almost defiant, his chin tilted up, but his grey eyes were telling a much different story. With a failed heartbeat, Harry noticed they had slight red markings around them. They were fighting with all their might against an invading storm. He wanted that storm to happen. He needed that. Needed Draco to let his frailty win over his reason, he needed Draco to finally spill his heart out, he couldn’t fight alone anymore. He wanted this defiant Draco to fight for him. Maybe he was being selfish, but he’d had few moments of selfishness in his life, and now, for the first time, he wanted to be selfish. If Draco fought for him, for them, he would too. He would give him the world, his world, for he had nothing else to give. If he just… But he could never hope it. It was too much to ask for when so much damage had been done.

Draco’s eyes locked with his, filled with such sorrow he felt he couldn’t take them. Still he didn’t look away. He waited with bated breath, watching the battle on the grey eyes, wondering who’d win this time, some part of him still hoping this time the Draco - the one he’d seen breaking those walls before - would.

He saw resolve setting on Draco’s eyes, something like pain etched on his face and he knew, at that moment, that they were finally having the talk they should have had years ago. His throat closed down, his mouth felt dry and suddenly everything he’d wanted to say, for so long, vanished from his mind. He’d never been closer to falling apart at the seams and he did not even know what self-determination was keeping him standing up.

‘We need to talk,’ Draco said, his voice cracking at the edges.

But the forward, honest admission, coming finally from Draco, was enough to set some sort of motion into him. Harry felt his own body unfreeze from the spot where he was still standing, and his eyes searched and found a chair. He picked it up, moved it closer to the bed where Draco was still sitting, unmoving, and with a sense of unreality he sat, then looked straight into the grey eyes, forcing his dried voice out.

‘Yes, we do,’ he heard himself say, even though he wasn’t sure he was able to string two sentences together. He had begged Draco for a talk before, so many times, but somehow now it seemed so much scarier.

Draco swallowed. He looked so _tired_. Harry couldn’t take this again. This distance they were keeping between them. The self-control over himself, escaping his grasp as the minutes ticked by. What he wanted was to touch Draco. Ease their pain away, somehow.

_Don’t. If you touch me we won’t talk._

_I know._

They were doing it again. Their minds were taking over, back and forth, surpassing words. Harry felt he could not tear his eyes away from Draco’s - searching, knowing, reading something on his own. What he might be reading, Harry had no idea because his mind was a complete fucking mess. How could they address what it felt like a lifetime of avoided conversations and admissions? How could they even start? But then a question filled his whole mind and took over.

‘Why?’

It was such a simple question, but Draco’s eyes hardened almost at once. His mouth formed a thin line, a line Harry knew so well and had no hope of easing away.   

‘He wanted _me_. So I went there to end it. It’s over now.’

The way he said it was so final, but so self-deprecating, it sunk into Harry like foreboding. All the fear he’d been feeling for the past few days spread and welled up inside him, starting to build up to leave his chest. He fought to keep himself on the chair, fought to keep his hands from shaking.

‘I should have been there,’ he said, trying to keep his voice steady, but failing. ‘I’m your Auror partner, I had to be there.’

‘You can leave your fucking Gryffindor’s guilt at the door, Potter,’ Draco eyed him, his eyes fighting for coldness, his voice shaking with the effort, but sounding harsh. ‘This was my decision. It isn’t your fault or your responsibility. I was next on the list. You knew this, it was only a matter of time until he came for me. So I went for him instead. How long were you going to keep watching over me?’  
  
‘As long as it took for us to catch the bastard. _Together_ ,’ he said, in a low trembling voice that turned slowly to bitterness. ‘But I clearly failed at that, didn’t I? I let you out of my sight.’

Draco eyes flashed at him. There was anger there, and something else. Harry wasn’t quite able to place it.

‘You can’t spend all your life protecting me,’ it almost sounded like an accusation. One he was tired of hearing, or sensing from everyone around him.

‘I can, that’s what I _do_ ,’ he snapped. He knew he was sounding exactly like the Auror he was, but wasn’t feeling like one. His thoughts lashed out in a wave, unbidden. _It wasn’t the first time I watched you bleed out. The last time it was also my fault. And now I wasn’t there._

Draco sucked in a breath, the determination in his eyes faltered but then steadied again.

‘Last time wasn’t your fault,’ he said very slowly. ‘I tried to hit you with a _Cruciatus_ and you fought back with the first spell that came to your mind. It was self-defence.’

The way he said it, sounded almost as if he’d made his peace with it a long time ago. Harry exhaled deeply, his head throbbing with pain. Finally, they were talking about that night and it felt so long overdue. And so unimportant right now.

_I shouldn’t have used a spell I didn’t even knew. I keep seeing you bleed out… Even after all these years... I still have nightmares about it._

_You were sixteen. I shouldn’t have done many things at sixteen, but I did them. And you forgave me._

‘I know you’ll never forgive yourself for it,’ Draco said suddenly, speaking over his own thoughts like he wanted them to not matter, his voice uneven. He had a strange bitter smile on his face and the pain in Harry’s chest deepened at the sight of it. ‘Trust me, I know the feeling…’ he held Harry’s gaze with his. It seemed to be costing him too much to speak, but still he went on. ‘But if you need my forgiveness… I can’t give you that, because there is nothing to forgive. There never was.’

Harry couldn’t speak. Draco didn’t blame him, he held no grudge. Harry hadn’t known how much he needed to know this, how much he’d held on to that blame, carrying it with him everywhere. But suddenly it didn’t matter, because he had another blame to carry now. He’d let Draco out of his sight, he had let him go with death in his eyes, he’d let him go over a stupid, heated, drunken argument. His mind was rushing, long awaited relief washing over him, but it wasn’t enough to ease the pain in his chest, or the sense of foreboding that told him that Draco had gone there alone to die. All the fear and frustration he’d kept enclosed inside him was fighting for a way out and he wasn’t strong enough to keep it in any longer.

‘Why did you go there _alone_ , Draco? For real,’ he leant forward, gripping his knees hard with his hands. His voice was almost a quiet whisper. ‘And don’t lie to me again. Or tell me half-truths. Do you have some freaking death wish? What the hell were you thinking?’

Harry met Draco’s eyes. Those eyes he’d thought he’d never see again and now there they were. Still alive. Hard. Determined. Defying him.

‘I was thinking like _you_ ,’ Draco said, eyes burning, his mouth twitching slightly with the effort to keep his voice down.

It hurt so much because it was true, and so Harry’s anger boiled up, breaking out of the tight knot in his chest, out of his control. There was a slight crack of their magic meeting up in the heavy air. Both their hands moved fast, unsurprisingly coordinated, Harry’s wandlessly casting a silencing charm on the room, Draco’s warding the door.

Harry didn’t register as he stood up fast from his chair, nor realised Draco had risen from the bed. They faced each other, standing with barely an inch of space between them. His thought fell from him in a rush of heated fury and frustration, _I was so worried, I was so terrified._

‘I fucking did not save you from the flames to have you die on me like that,’ he said, dimly aware of his rising tone, his fingers flexing. His voice shook, Draco flinched away from him, something changing fast on his eyes. The fear he’d been feeling for so long was seeping through him, clutching at his insides, he honestly didn’t know if he was thinking or yelling. ‘I fucking did not save you from every fucking curse I could to lose you like this. Fuck you Draco, you could have died, I could have lost you, I can't lose you!’ his voice cracked between them, his throat was hurting. Had he been screaming?

Draco was looking at him, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes going hard and prepared for war. Now he didn’t have any masks, his hands were curling into fists as he stepped in closer to Harry.

‘So this is about _you_ , is it now?’ Draco cried out, his hands shaking, his words spilling out of his mouth and hitting Harry’s face like a train wreck. It was as if they’d both been waiting on the silencing charm to finally scream at each other freely. ‘Fuckin’ _chosen one_ , not everything is about _you_. You're one to talk, _you_ , who died to save the world, are you fuckin’ lecturing me on the level of death wish you think healthy?! _Fuck you, Harry_ ,’ Draco pushed him harshly away, mad, and Harry staggered back.

His brain had stopped working. _Harry._ This single word was threatening to overwhelm him. And Draco’s other words were crashing in on him, suppressing everything else. There was only Draco and that hard truth hitting home, shattering him.

‘Do you…’ Draco took another step towards him, shaking, seemingly fighting his words out. ‘Do you _ever_ fucking stop to think what it means to someone who has seen you dead? Do you ever wonder what that does to your friends?!’

Something like panic was seeping through Harry. He felt helpless, disoriented, his mind fighting to find some answer, to take in the words and pick a meaning because he could not fucking believe it.  

‘They're used to it,’ he heard himself answer slowly, his voice detached. ‘They know I'll be fine.’

Draco made a disagreeing noise with his throat and threw his hands up in frustration.

‘The thing is,’ he said in a burning voice, loud and cracking around Harry’s ears. ‘You’re _not_ fucking fine,’ Harry stepped back again, unable to stop Draco moving closer. His back hit the windowsill. He’d never seen Draco like that. He wasn’t in control. He seemed to be losing it and he was so close, so close, Harry could see the tense lines around his mouth, tracing patterns on his skin. Those lines… he’d put them there, on Draco’s face.  

‘Hermione isn't okay with it. Weasley isn’t. Fuck,’ something mad flashed in the grey eyes and Harry flinched. ‘ _I'm fucking not okay with it._ You spent seven years trying to get yourself killed and the minute I fucking act like you, you lecture me?’ Harry watched the tension building on Draco’s neck, the quick tap of a vein there. It was easier to watch that than take in his words. They sounded too strange to be true. They sounded like Draco cared more than Harry had known. ‘We all saw you _dead_ . What do you think it does to us - knowing you are fucking willing to do it again? Every time you jump in front of a curse you scare the hell out of _me_. Every fucking time I had to check you in an hospital I thought it would be the last time. Do you fucking know what _that_ feels like?!’

‘You… what?!’

Draco’s face seemed struck by lightning. He stopped, mouth agape, like he was only just realising what he was saying. Harry could not breathe, something heavy was pressing his chest down. He grasped the windowsill behind him, half-expecting Draco to deny it. To deny everything. But he didn’t, he just stared back at Harry and his eyes were a storm, they were rain, they were everything. He was paler than ever. Harry felt all the air being drained out of him.

_Draco..._

Draco held a hand up to stop him. _Don’t._ Harry drowned his own thoughts, even though he didn’t even knew what they were. He drank them in, almost suffocating. Draco’s eyes finally left his. He lowered them to his hands, still trembling.

‘I just wanted to end this because it’s always you, fucking hero, taking the fall for everyone,’ Draco’s voice was low and it went through Harry, setting cold on his bones. ‘But not for me, I won’t allow it anymore. I wanted to kill him, for everything he’s done, but I’m an Auror, I couldn’t, so I stunned him, and stunned him, and stunned him. _Choices_ , you said,’ that bitter half-smile showed up fast on Draco’s face. It stayed. ‘You almost died at that fucking fire and you still came back for me. And you keep doing it. Do you never stop to think what that would do to them or are you so _dead_ inside already that it doesn’t even count anymore?’ Those eyes were on him again and Harry got lost. They were endless, infinitely vast. He only had the words to hold on to. ‘You’d do everything for them, but don’t you see that the only thing that they want is for you to be happy? Alive?’

_It’s what I want, too._

Draco’s thought almost startled him. Harry gripped harder at the windowsill, his knuckles turning white as he felt unable to ease his breathing, unable to think of anything to say. He knew it was the truth, so there was nothing to say. He’d been going down that road for years, willingly blindfolded, waiting, just waiting for the day it would all be over. He wasn’t that different from Draco, really. Most of the time he found no meaning in his life, and that was the single truth he had. He was asking Draco for something he couldn’t give anyone. The certainty that he wanted to live.

‘I had to end it, because I knew that was what you would have done, if you’d been presented with that choice,’ Draco said, his voice dropping to a lower tone. ‘You’d go there alone, you’d never call for me, you’d protect me and Weasley… no, you’d never call for fucking backup. Still, I called for you in the end, to arrest him, because again that’s what you’d do. You’d never care for dying, only for him to not escape, because you’re not fucking reasonable. _You’re a fucking hero_ ,’ a short bitter laugh escaped Draco’s lips. His smile was broken, and it was all for Harry. ‘ _Heroes aren’t reasonable, are they?_ Well, I played the hero too. So now you see the problem... you don’t like it, do you?’

‘What else am I good for?’ the question shot through the air, leaving him empty. Was that his own voice? ‘Seriously Draco,’ his breath was heaving. ‘Tell me. Look at my life. You know me. What else am I good for?’

‘That’s fucking bullshit,’ Draco said, his eyes suddenly mad. ‘You are so much more than this puppet hero everyone wanted a piece of. You are no longer a pawn in anyone’s game. This is your life, haven’t you noticed? This is your fucking life!’

And then Draco was there, too close, and he gripped Harry’s arms in a sudden gesture. Harry was trapped against the windowsill and he wasn’t ready for it, for any of it, for the feel of Draco’s breath on his lips, for the sudden closeness of their bodies, for the cold shaking hands on him, for the words breaking him apart inch by inch, for Draco there, so real, so fucking real. _Touching him._

‘ _You_ already saved the world, and fuck, no one should have asked you to do that, no one should have made a kid grow up like that,’ Draco said, and Harry saw his lips forming the words, too close, too close, he couldn’t breathe. He was remembered of a much younger Draco, the one who had shadows in his eyes, a weight on his shoulders, just like him. _We were both too young to be fighting that war,_ he thought helplessly. _We’ve always been alike, you and I… so different and so alike._ Draco’s eyes tore through him, relentless. Harry felt too aware of his hands on his arms. Like they belonged there.

‘No one asked you what you wanted, you never even had a choice. I did. I had them, I fucked up. But we were all fucking pawns in their fucking grown-up games and we’re left alone to deal with the fucking mess. You made your sacrifice. It’s done. You don’t have to keep saving everyone.’

The silence spread before them. Harry felt stunned, locked inside Draco’s knowing gaze and hands. He felt stark naked, in a way he’d never allowed anyone to see him. And then Draco stepped back so suddenly Harry swayed on the spot. The absence of Draco’s hands on him left him cold, alone against the window.

‘It's like you've given us this world filled with possibilities but you decided not to live in it,’ Draco went on, too loud, stalking towards the bed and then coming up over to Harry. Harry followed his words as much as his actions because he’d never seen Draco like this. He looked utterly desperate to make Harry understand. ‘You think if you keep saying it in those speeches you’ll end up believing it, but it’s not working. So you make it all up. I know how you look when you’re lying. It’s so difficult for you, I don’t even get how anyone buys that crap. You lie at every fucking speech because you can’t live the life you’re telling everyone to live. You don’t believe any of it.’

‘What else do you want me to do?’ Harry asked, his eyes burning again with something warm. His right hand curled into a fist, his nails dug into his skin and he focused on the slight stab of pain to be able to keep going. ‘I have nothing else, Draco. All I have is this fucking job. With _you_ ,’ he held Draco’s gaze in his, the pain in his palm shooting through him in steady waves. ‘Saving people is what I do. The only thing I could ever do.’

‘That’s the problem, isn’t it?’ Draco asked, his voice almost shattering. ‘You are so convinced of this that the only thing you can give to anyone is protection and heroic acts, that you forget yourself. It’s not just the job,’ Draco’s cheeks looked brighter than usual, he clenched his hands, his voice shook, but his eyes were daring Harry. ‘You fuck all those random people so you don’t have to feel. But then you always do. You care for others, you care so much it kills you. You want it to stop. You want to stop caring, so badly that you drink, and fuck, and jump in front of curses. The only thing you never care about is _you_. You don’t care if you’re alive the next day. You’ve already lived to tell the tale before, it doesn’t matter to you anymore.’

It hurt too much, but Harry welcomed the pain, felt it sink in into him, slowly, seeping, grappling him and he clutched it back, embracing it. He was no mystery to Draco - nor any of his friends. Something was burning hot, warm behind his eyes and he now knew what it was.

‘It takes too much out of me,’ he said, his voice barely audible between them. ‘The effort to be alive. I’m so tired, Draco.’

The silence was loud. Draco wasn’t avoiding his eyes. He was drinking them in and Harry’s heart faltered.  

‘I know. I’m fucking tired too,’ Draco said in a thin voice.

He’d never expected this, this sudden admission of something so deeply painful all out in the open. He’d never expected that Draco, the one with the unbreakable walls, would be the one to finally unveil it. They were still standing apart, facing each other silently, their thoughts confused in each other, caressing, touching, it was impossible. Harry couldn’t take this anymore. He couldn’t feel like this and not touch Draco. He was moving towards him without even realising it.

‘Draco…’

Draco stepped back, closed his mind to his, his breath uneven. He was trembling. Harry wanted nothing more than to take him in his arms. Comfort him. Make the pain go away.

‘Don’t. Don’t you _dare_ ,’ Draco said through clenched teeth. Harry watched in pain as Draco closed his eyes against his, not wanting him to read them,  not wanting to read the want in Harry’s. Sadness ripped through him in a wave and everything he’d wanted to say couldn’t stay inside anymore. He knew he had reached every limit he had.

‘Draco. Look at me.’

_I won’t touch you. You said no. I won’t ever force anything on you, you know this. But you said we needed to talk, and we do._

‘Please, look at me. We have to talk,’ he repeated, echoing his thought, his voice hollow.

Draco opened his eyes. The grey almost looked like glass. Bright. Broken. Harry saw himself reflected there, torn.

‘Do you want to know why I held on to this job for so long?’ he asked, very quietly. He watched Draco’s hand clutching tightly on the bedside post. ‘You’re right. I hate my fucking life, I hate this job, I hate that my whole life is about fighting dark Wizards. I'm dead tired, Draco,’ he laughed. A desperate, long-kept inside laugh. ‘Fuck, I was already tired at seventeen, I’d already had enough of fighting to last me a lifetime. But I was convinced I was good for nothing else. I didn’t want to disappoint _them_. So I chose this life. And then Robards made something unexpected, he made us, of all the people, partners. And I’d never in my life imagined I’d work like this with you,’ Draco’s expression was unreadable but Harry saw his fingers, clenching and unclenching, nervous, tense. He kept going.

‘You know we’re good. _We’re fucking good together._ We know each other better than anyone else knows us. Our magic works together, it’s a perfect fit, and I’ve never felt _this_ with anyone,’ he felt his face hot, but the words just kept coming and he’d never known he had so much to say. ‘I’d already felt it with your wand, during the War,’ it was the first time he was saying it out loud, and it somehow sounded so right. Draco looked at him mesmerized. ‘It worked for me, in my hand. Your magic calls for mine - I don’t even fucking know if this is possible or just nonsense, but I know I _feel_ it. And I know you do, too,’ he paused, watching Draco bite the inside of his mouth with almost an imperceptible movement, his jaw clenched. ‘Our minds connect, Draco. Knowing you, knowing how you think, how you feel, has been something that has kept me going. Like I’m not alone anymore because we share this, this something!…’ he laughed. It was an empty laugh, quite the opposite of this _something_ he couldn’t name. ‘I was always afraid to let you know this, afraid that you’d take it from me and go. Because that’s the only thing I have left.  I’m telling you now. Being close to you is the only thing that has made me feel alive.’

There. He had said it all in a rush, his nerves wrecked, his hands clenched. He was trying very hard not to tremble but he wasn’t able. He felt faint. Draco’s eyes were suddenly wide, so deeply grey and wet. He had never seen eyes like this in his life. He swallowed thickly, his heart hammering on his chest, waiting, waiting…

‘Don’t say that,’ he almost had to read Draco’s lips to get it. Desperation cursed through him.

‘I know it’s fucked up, but it’s also the fucking truth. Don’t you want it? ‘Cause I have more,’ he walked over and this time Draco stepped back and hit the side of the bed. ‘I know you went there fully aware that it was trap. You went there to die. You were almost sure you’d not survive,’ Draco opened his mouth to cut him off, but Harry was faster. ‘ _Don’t_ lie to me. I know.’

‘That has nothing to do-’

‘Oh I know _what_ it has to do with, Draco,’ he snapped, laughing bitterly. ‘It was a way out. A way out of this. Of us,’ he gestured vaguely in between them. Draco was shaking his head but his eyes held the truth. ‘I’m surprised you even agreed to see me. I was sure you’d avoid me and do what you’ve been meaning to do all along. Leave. Leave so I’d never find you again, even if I searched the whole fucking world for you. Isn't that what you mean to say to me? That you’re leaving?’

Draco faltered. He opened his mouth, then closed it in a thin line, his lips trembling. He looked so pale, his cheeks so hollow, that Harry wondered if this hadn’t been to much for the both of them. He waited, heart frantic. He already knew the truth. He’d seen it a long time ago inside Draco’s unguarded mind.

‘I went there to finish it,’ Draco said through gritted teeth. ‘I told you before, I can take care of myself. I told you I could handle it. Anything,’ Draco was trying to keep his voice steady, cold, but it wasn’t any of those things. He looked so frail and so young, so lost.

‘Was that why you called me in the end? Because you fucking can handle it?’ Harry stepped forward, his voice coming stronger now. ‘You can’t lecture me about not valuing my life while I live in fear you’ll end up taking yours,’ Draco’s eyes widened in shock. _How can you not know this, Draco? I’ve always cared._ ‘You went there to die, to fucking have the final excuse to run from this.’

‘You’re fucking crazy,’ Draco said, eyes still wide, the grey in them so deep it was frightening. If it was from his words, or his thoughts, or both, Harry did not know. Harry was so close he could see him shaking, he could almost feel the tension on Draco’s body, his fight for some control over himself. Harry felt a surge of cruel victory in that. He was getting through to Draco. But the cost was too high.

‘I think we’re both fucking crazy. And we can’t keep blaming the War, now can we? I know I’m right. _I know you._ This is just classical Draco Malfoy. You went there to die because then you wouldn’t have to face me ever again. You’d leave me to live my own life happily ever after without you, because… that’s what you think is _best_ for me,’ he paused, waiting for some denial, but it never came. Draco looked trapped in headlights, his face struck by so many conflicted emotions he couldn’t pick one to show.

‘But you don’t get it do you? You just don’t fucking get it,’ Harry looked straight into the grey eyes. He could see he was right on Draco’s face. It was so clear.

‘My life is mine to do with as I please. I’m not a helpless victim. I’m not your fucking charity case,’ Draco said, his voice cracking, dry, defensive. He was so afraid. Terrified. Harry could feel it, that fear seeping through him. He cleared his throat, he fought to get the next words out.

‘That’s not what you are to me. And I think you know, Draco, I think you know what you mean to me and it scares the hell out of you. Because I see something in you that you refuse to see.’

Draco looked at him, a sense of disbelief written plainly on his face. He wanted so badly to deny it, so, so badly, Harry could feel it inside his own mind, an echoing scream of panic. Harry’s heart was about to come out of his mouth. He kept talking, not even knowing really what he was saying.  

‘You went there alone because everything is better than facing this. You keep leaving every time we mention what the hell is going on with us. You’re so afraid of this, of feeling, like it would fucking kill you!’ he was so close, but still he wouldn’t touch Draco. Draco wasn’t breathing. It was taking everything out of Harry to keep from taking another step, to bridge the last distance between them. His throat was burning, his eyes were warm, but there was no turning back from this. ‘You won’t ever admit that there’s something between us, you won’t ever stay and talk. Are we going to talk about it now?’

Draco flinched away from him. He stepped away from the bed and tried to put some distance between them. Some semblance of sanity, of safety. Harry let him. He stepped back. His legs were straining to keep him standing. Draco’s hands were shaking as he ran them through his own hair. He looked deranged, almost sick.

‘Shut up. Just fucking shut up. I don’t want to talk about it. That’s not why I-’

‘You never do. Never,’ Harry said quietly.

‘I can’t, I don’t want to,’ Draco’s voice was a whisper. ‘There is nothing between us. There shouldn’t be anything. You need to let it go.’

They stared at each other, stubbornly.

_Just let it go._

_You know I can’t._

He knew what his next words should be, but staring at Draco, watching him searching again for something he could say to deny everything, to fight Harry off, he knew he couldn’t. He needed Draco to say it and he wouldn’t. He would never. He watched as the silent face before him went numb, lips stretching into a flat line he knew so well. Ginny was in the back of his mind, her words battering him and he knew in his heart she was right. _“The least you can do is fucking admit how much you care, how much you love him.”_ Draco looked too disturbed to notice his conflict. He pushed Ginny’s words out of his mind. He couldn’t say that. He could not be the only one fighting. Not again. But he could ask.

‘Why did you call me here?’

  
***

_  
I couldn’t bear not seeing you again._

The thought washed over him before he could do anything to stop it. A wave of panic engulfed him as Potter stared back, his face stricken with pain, a hint of knowledge dawning on his wide, greener-than-ever, eyes. He knew. _He knew._

Draco fought for an answer, any answer to mask this unbidden thought. But nothing came out. He stared at Potter and he knew what he was doing. His brain was taking in everything about Potter, at the worst possible timing.

Harry was wearing his usual torn jeans, a tight black long sleeve shirt and trainers. Draco loved that shirt on him. Always had. And he knew how Potter loved those damned trainers. He even remembered they were from some famous Muggle brand. _All Stars._ Someone must have brought him a change of clothes, then, since he hadn’t left the hospital. He always looked so different in Muggle clothes, so different from the assured, powerful Auror he was. He looked more human, Draco thought, like anyone could reach a hand and touch him and be welcome and that was something Draco could not bear to look at. He also looked more tired than Draco had ever seen him, and that was taking into account their longest trips abroad, their 72 hours work shifts and their worst weeks of nightmarish restless sleeps he knew they both had. And still he looked fucking beautiful, too fucking good to be even real. It made everything more difficult. He could not be thinking these thoughts. Potter was staring at him and for once his expression was unreadable, but Draco wasn’t sure his own was. He had to do something because the truth was Potter was too good to be true, but he was to good for someone else, not him.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was walking over to Potter, his steps fast and nervous, taking him too close, within Potter’s grasp, the heat of Potter’s body hitting him full force. They were again standing too close to be bearable, some part of him knew this, but he could no longer control his own actions, it seemed. He wasn’t thinking clearly. He wondered if he’d ever again be able to be rational around Potter, but it didn’t matter did it? This was the last time he’d be this close to him. He fought against the burning pain this realisation brought.

‘You fucking keep messing me up,’ he heard himself say, dropping every word like an accusation. Potter wasn’t stepping away from him, which was unsettling. Draco felt feverish, he didn’t sound like himself. He wasn’t calm and collected, he sounded too emotional, too damaged. ‘You have to stop interfering with my life. I didn’t ask for any of this. You keep messing up my life. You had no right to call _her_.’

He knew he was being unfair. It didn’t matter if seeing his mother again had been one of the most important things to have happened in his life in the last years, it didn’t matter that Potter had known him so deeply he’d called her. It didn’t matter what Narcissa had said. _Your partner called me. He’s so very worried about you. He seems to care so much._ He hadn’t been able to even look at her as she’d said it. And then… _I’m so glad he has been around all these years, Draco. I’m relieved. You are cared for, I know you are, I saw him. He…_ Draco had made her stop there. He had been too sure of what she was going to say next and it couldn’t be. She was wrong. Luna was wrong. They both meant well, he knew that, but they didn’t understand. Harry Potter was too good for him. As these thoughts kept battering him, he was still talking, not even aware of what he was saying anymore.

‘Who do you think you are?’ he said, facing Potter dead in the eyes. ‘You know I don't want to talk to _them_ ever again and you fuckin’ called her.’

The green eyes hardened. Potter gave a sarcastic laugh but it sounded off. He was hurt. Terribly hurt.

‘I know no such thing Draco, because you never open about anything, are you?’ Potter threw his hands up. He looked exasperated, too tired and Draco saw himself reflected on his glasses. He looked like a ghost. ‘What I know, I know from reading into you over the years. I know you fucking hate Lucius for everything he did to you. He fucking hurt you, he made your life miserable when you were just a kid and he's probably a homophobic prick who could never accept his son as he is.’

He should have been expecting that. Potter seeing right through him. Knowing about Lucius, knowing how much it hurt him. He tried to keep his face impassive but he knew he was failing. He could not keep up the façade, not when Potter had so plainly put it out in the open, not when those green eyes weren’t leaving him, not when there wasn’t more than hair's breadth of distance in between them and Draco was to be blamed for that. He couldn’t breathe, he could not tear his eyes away from the bright green, the flaming green.

‘But that's not how you feel about your mother,’ Potter went on, and his voice was steady, almost soft now. ‘She lied to Voldemort for you. I know you haven’t forgotten. She fuckin’ saved my life because of you. She always loved you. I saw her letters every year, lying unopened. Her gifts. She never stopped trying to reach out in her own way.’ _Well, fuck, it was the truth, wasn’t it?_ Draco flinched as Potter moved even closer, barely an inch left in between them, his words almost ghosting over Draco’s lips, too unbearable. ‘You forget that you _also_ can't lie to me. I know. I know you care. I know you miss her,’ Potter’s lips hinted a sad, broken smile. Draco felt transfixed by it. ‘Fuck, I know you better than I know myself. You're just too fucking proud to admit it and she probably is too. Fucking Malfoys.’

‘Fuck you, Potter. That was my decision to make, not yours.’

There. He was still able to answer him, even if his voice was shaking. Potter’s eyes flared right back at him.

‘Is that your fucking way to admit I’m right?’

‘It’s my way to tell you to mind your own fucking business, but you never do, now do you?’ he gritted through his teeth, the tension in his body reaching a boiling point. This proximity was too much. He willed his legs to step back and they somehow did. Potter watched his every movement, so intensely aware of him it made Draco’s skin burn.

‘Bullshit, Draco. I thought you were dying. We all did. She would have died for you, she risked everything for you, what do you think she'd do if her son died and she never got to say goodbye?’

He could not answer. He knew Potter was right. He refused to think on it anymore, because if he looked too closely he’d have to acknowledge the meaning behind Potter’s actions. And his actions spoke too loudly for him. They always did, no matter how much Potter kept inside himself. He noticed he was biting so hard on his own lip he was drawing blood. He could not care. He welcomed the pain.

‘You have no right messing with my life, or with my decisions or with my mind,’ he said, his voice cracking suddenly.

_Or with my heart._

He bit back his tongue, his heart frantic. Had he thought that or did he say it out loud? Potter’s eyes were intent on him, they were like a green fire burning him alive. And he wanted to burn. Oh, he did. He wanted this to be over. He couldn’t take those eyes anymore. Couldn’t take Potter reading into him like this, stepping inside him like he belonged there. Draco waited, eyes hard, every muscle on his body taut with tension. Potter would do something or go crazy. But Potter just stared back and Draco watched him control his own breathing, his fingers flexing against his leg, his jaw working. He looked stubbornly at Draco and Draco knew he wasn’t going to address his thoughts. He was going to address only the words, only what he said. He wanted Draco to break. To let it all out, to lose it, to confess.

‘You were dying, I couldn't ask you. It's called being a _friend_.’

Draco tilted his chin up, his arms crossed in front of him, almost of their own volition. He wasn’t going to break, Potter be damned. He was going to do what he’d set up to do.

‘We're not friends,’ he said in a low tone.

‘What are we, Draco?’ Potter asked, his voice quiet. ‘What am I to you?’ he let the question hang between them, knowing fully well Draco wasn’t going to answer it.

Draco watched him take control again, his chest heaving. Potter slowly raised a hand and started counting with his fingers, a long list of forbidden names spilling from his lips.

‘Because I'm not your fucking _friend,_ but we’ve spent the last seven years working side by side, saving each other’s lives, sharing our most fucked up thoughts and fears. I let you step inside my mind, I let you in - after all that’s happened in the War, after having Voldemort inside my fucking head-, I still fucking let you in, because I trust _you_ and you, you fucking did the same.’

Potter closed his eyes, he was shaking, it was too much for him. Draco had never heard him talk about the Dark Lord like this, about the heavy weight that had never really left him. It was one thing to kill an enemy, quite another to let it go. He knew Harry was followed everywhere by this shadow. Draco could never quite grasp how Harry could trust anyone after being played like a pawn, after having such darkness living inside him. And still he did. He was never afraid to be vulnerable. And that was how he’d won the War. By being vulnerable. Draco stared at the man in front of him, losing his words and his thoughts altogether as he watched Harry’s eyes open again. They were even more green now and Draco thought he was going to drown.

‘We trusted each other _enough_ to do that. But we’re not _friends_ , no,’ Potter said.

Draco felt the air being ripped out of him. He’d never have the courage to speak so bluntly like this. He’d never be able to be this vulnerable.

‘I'm not your _fuck buddy_ because fuck buddies actually fuck more than we do. Heck, we can't even fuck without fucking feelings and throwing up a mess around us,’ Potter turned away from him, his steps frantic, sounding loud in the room. ‘Forget it, we’re not fuck buddies because fuck buddies don’t treat each other like shit because they’re buddies, right? They’re supposed to be _friendly_ to each other, beyond fucking around, but we’ve already established we’re not friends. Friends talk about stuff. We never talk. You always walk away,’ Draco felt his mouth dry, shut in a thin line. He watched as Potter lifted a third, shaking, finger. ‘We’re also not _lovers_. That would require some more talking, wouldn’t it? I guess, I wouldn’t know that, because I’ve been too fucked up to have any lovers, pining after you all these years. I’m a fucking idiot, like you always said,’ he laughed. It was an empty laugh, so broken, Draco wished he’d never heard it because it would forever be stuck inside his mind. ‘I was stupid enough to dream of asking you on a date. I didn’t, though. That would have been really, really stupid of me.’

Draco’s mouth gaped open for a few seconds, no sound coming out, before he realised what he was doing and shut it. It wasn’t enough to block his thought, though. _You wanted to ask me on a date?!_ He would have laughed at his own ridicule reaction if his nerves weren’t wrecked beyond repair. He felt strangely like crying or screaming.

Potter’s eyes blazed over him, hard. His jaw was set. He was going to ignore the thought. _Again_.

‘That takes us to another possible word. But you know what that word is. You’d never use it around me. You’d fucking wreck me if I ever used it around you. I’ve been a fool to dream it would be possible someday,’ he laughed again, looking more deranged than Draco had ever seen him. ‘I’m fucking crazy for ever thinking you could be my _boyfriend_.’

 _Boyfriend? What?!_ Draco’s heart seemed to have been dislodged from his chest. He could not hide the shaking tremor on his hands. He reached for his bag and searched for the cigarette case Luna had brought him. He needed a fucking cigarette or his head was going to explode. Potter was there in an instant, too fast for him to do anything. He yanked the case from his hand and it came clattering across the floor.

‘Give it back,’ he said.

Draco felt his hand burn, where Potter had touched it. He stared blankly at the case, feeling furious, overwhelmed, feeling too many things to account for, but his body wasn’t responding accordingly.

‘You can't smoke in here,’ Potter answered. ‘This is a fucking hospital,’ he picked up the cigarette case, slowly, then turned it in his hand, his fingers smoothing over the engraved initials on the silver surface. Draco lost his ability to breathe. He yanked his eyes from those hands.

‘Thank you for enlightening me, Potter. Hadn’t noticed it yet. I clearly didn’t spend enough of my life in here waiting to know if you were fucking dead or alive.’

Potter looked silently at him for a few seconds. He turned the case again in his hand, and Draco thought the gesture too intimate. That was probably one of his closest possessions. A gift from his father. Someone he hated, someone who’d never loved him, never respected him, never cared. Still, Draco had kept the silver case. It felt appropriate, somehow: to keep things that were slowly killing him, inside of a case his father had given him. He was truly fucked up. How on earth was it that Potter always got hold of his most intimate possessions? First, his wand. Now this. He realised he hadn’t heard the question from Potter because he was too enthralled, watching as he set the case on the window-sill, away from Draco.

‘Why did you?’ Potter repeated. ‘Why were you here all those times I got hurt? Yes, I know. Hermione and Ron told me. But why? ‘Cause we’re not _friends_ , remember? What are we, Draco?’

_A fucked up mess._

‘Partners on the job,’ he said, trying to sound indifferent.

‘Partners who fuck,’ Potter countered.

_We didn’t even fuck, at least not… as much as-_

‘Partners who have feelings for each other, to say the least,’ Potter said again, speaking over his mind.

 _I_ can’t _have feelings. I don’t._

‘You are delirious,’ Draco whispered.

Potter laughed so suddenly Draco almost jumped back. His throat was dry, his eyes were burning, his palms sweating. He wasn’t in control. Potter looked exactly how he felt.

‘Yes, I am. I’m fucking delirious. I've been delirious for seven fucking years. We are partners who _lie_ for seven fucking years,’ Potter turned away from him, his hands going through his hair, tense, shaking. ‘Hell, we’re not partners, partners don't do this. They respect each other -’

‘We’re nothing!’ yelled Draco. He was surprised at his own tone, ringing too loud in his ears. His heart was beating too frantically for him to care. Potter’s eyes flickered bright, too bright, wet and his lips curled into a smile. It was nothing like his smiles, open, beautiful. This one was ironic. Hurt. And Draco had put it there.

‘Yes, we’re fucking nothing,’ he said quietly. ‘That's what we are, glad we finally agreed on something.’

The pain was wrecking him, wrenching inside, disassembling pieces he could not hope to put together again. How could two people want each other so much and become like this? How could he hurt Harry so much, to the point of breaking them both? Well, this was just who he was. A coward. It was bound to end up like this.

Draco lifted his eyes. This was what he wanted. To hurt Harry so badly he’d stay well away from Draco. Harry’s sadness was so etched on his face Draco knew he’d never live enough to forget it. He gathered the last shreds of his fake courage.

‘I’m leaving this job and England. I want you to promise you won’t come looking for me. I don’t want you to. I want to be away from you, I never want to see you again.’

Harry let out a deep sigh, then leant against the window, his expression empty of all meaning.

‘Tell me something I don’t know already, Draco. You’re running away from this. From me.’

‘I should have done it years ago,’ he said, the emptiness in Harry’s eyes making him go for sudden total honesty. ‘Then you’d never be wasting your time on me. You’d be with someone good for you,’ his voice cracked.

Something welled up on Harry’s eyes. It drew forth, so close to the green surface. It scared the hell out of Draco.

‘Fuck you,’ Harry spat, his hand gripped hard at the windowsill. ‘I don’t want someone else.’

There was pain in every part of Draco’s body now. He did not know where that pain was coming from, but it was there.

‘You really are a fool, Potter,’ he said, and he wished his voice didn’t sound like he cared.

‘At least I’m not ashamed of what I feel,’ Harry said defiantly, eyes burning. Even then, Draco could not help but think how beautiful he was.

‘I don’t care what you feel,’ Draco said, searching for the cold voice that always kept him alive through the worst of it. But now he was burning up and his voice was turning everything in its wake to fucking cinders. ‘I never did. It shouldn’t be any different now. That was why I called you here. I’m leaving. We will never see each other again.’

It took a while for Harry to answer. Draco refused to watch the battle in his eyes and only looked up when he heard: ‘Is that what you really want?’ Harry’s voice didn’t sound like his at all.

‘Yes,’ he whispered.

Harry stepped away from the window-sill.

‘And you’re going to be okay if you do that? If you leave...’ he asked, slowly, taking another step. ‘Will you be happy?’

 _Happy?_ It took Draco some time to get the meaning of the word. Harry’s eyes searched his and he felt too exposed.

‘I’m… why do you care? That doesn’t have anything to do with-’

‘It fucking matters to me,’ Harry said, his voice growing steadier as he took yet another step. Draco wanted to step back but couldn’t, he was glued to the floor, waiting on Harry’s next move. ‘Is this what you really want, Draco? You don’t need to leave the Aurors if you really don’t want to, because I’m leaving. I don’t want that job.’

Draco stared mutely at him, Harry was closer now, he noticed the lines on his face. Exhaustion and pain. And still he’d never seen anyone so strong, so alive.

‘Does it matter what I want? This isn’t about what I -’

‘It fucking _matters_ to me,’ Harry repeated sharply. He was standing one step away from Draco. ‘I know how important this job is for you. I fucking care about you, can’t you see it?’

‘You shouldn’t,’ he murmured.

‘It does not work like that, Draco. You're worth it. But that's your problem, isn't it? You don't think you are.’

And then Harry was finally there, within reach, and there was nothing in between them any more. His lips grazed over Draco’s and Draco felt himself fall forwards, the immense pull of Harry’s gravity drawing him in, gently, unavoidably. Harry’s arms were holding him, a lifeline, and he was breathing again as he sank into Harry’s warmth, feeling his breath against his lips.

_Kiss me. Kiss me, Harry, please._

But Harry was speaking against his mouth, his voice barely a whisper.

‘You are not a fucking cold bastard, Draco. You are gentle, and warm, and you care. Draco, you _care_. You fucking care about me, and you’re no longer cold. You want to be warm. You want this, us, because it’s warm, it’s something you never had.’

Harry’s lips were on his skin, brushing against his jaw, the slight burn of his stubble sending sparks of want down his body. Draco whimpered, he could not keep it inside, he could feel the heat from Harry’s words and hands all over him. Harry’s breath was speeding up, his hands went gently down the small of Draco’s back, drawing them even closer.

‘And I want to give it to you… there’s nothing I want more,’ Harry’s mouth moved over his jaw, his lips opening up softly and Draco wanted to scream as Harry’s tongue flicked lightly over his skin and it was too much, he was burning up, he wasn’t able to breathe, he wanted Harry, he wanted Harry so much it was going to kill him. Harry’s lips ghosted over his again, but the kiss never happened. Instead, Harry’s words went inside him, a gentle push against his lips, hurting.

‘But then… you can’t stand it. You can’t take me _caring_ for you. So you come to me looking for pain. That was why you came knocking the other night. You wanted me to give you pain, because you can’t take anything else from me.’

Draco wanted to deny it, he really did. But Harry’s hands cupped his face. The green eyes were on the verge of tears, Harry’s palms so warm and loving, and Draco was collapsing inside himself, unable to move away, he was crashing, crashing.

‘You can’t stand it every time I do this…’ Harry’s hand caressed his face, soft, careful. ‘You can’t stand it the moment you know it’s more than me wanting to shag you. You can only take it when it’s this,’ his hands went down and harshly cupped Draco’s arse, their hips pressed so suddenly together that Draco moaned and Harry let out a gasp. With a pang, Draco realised they were both so hard against each other it was downright painful.

‘This you can take. Almost. This stupid overwhelming desire we have for each other,’ Harry whispered, and one of his hands left his arse and went upwards, along his back, and Draco could not stop shaking, desire coursing so blindly through him he was about to beg to be fucked, but then Harry silenced him with a look, his mouth too close. ‘Yes, Draco. We want to fuck each other so badly it’s killing us. I could have you right now, right here, on this fucking bed, or against this wall, because you are practically begging me for it and I haven’t thought of anything else - _anyone else_ \- for years. _This_ , you can take. Knowing I fucking want your body.’

 _Yes._ He wanted to scream. Harry was flushed against him, their bodies were on fire and he had reached the tipping point. He’d forgotten all reason, there was only Harry’s mouth on his and Harry was moving, his teeth caught Draco’s lip slowly, Draco’s hands shot for Harry’s arse, wildly, he couldn’t take it.

‘Fuck, Harry…’

His whole body swayed on the spot, his balance lost as Harry’s heat left him so suddenly he had to grip the side of the bed to not fall down. His mind was screaming in want and confusion and he didn’t realise fast enough that Harry was stepping away. Their fast breaths filled the room, but Harry was still talking.

‘But then… you can’t stand it every time I show you that I really care. That I don’t just want your body or your arse. I want you. All of you. I’d do anything to see you happy, even leave.’

‘Then you are a fucking fool,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘You always have been-’

‘You’re right, Draco,’ Harry cut him off. What Draco had wanted to say vanished from his mind as he watched Harry’s sad smile. ‘I’m a fool. But I see you. You’re not a piece of shit, as you seem to think you are. I’ve given up convincing you,’ he ran a hand through his hair. There were dark circles under his eyes. Sleeping in a hospital corridor for days would probably do that to a person. Draco could not look at those circles. It was as if something was gripping his heart in a vice.

 _‘I don’t have to convince you._ It’s called trusting, letting go of walls, barriers, welcoming the unknown of another person. I never could do it before. With anyone. Not even Ginny. That was always my problem. After the War I just couldn’t give myself like that…’ Harry’s eyes went down and focused on some point on the floor. He spoke to the floor, as Draco’s heart shrunk inside him, too tight, too cluttered. ‘You’re right. I fuck so I don’t have to feel, but I always do. What I couldn’t do was let anyone _in_ … Let them know how scared I am, all the time. People always assume I’m not afraid, but I’ve always been afraid,’ he lifted his eyes, torn and sad. ‘You scare the hell out of me. Everything about you, being close to you, I’ve never wanted anyone so badly and I’ve never been so afraid. But I tried to  welcome your unknown, because… you are worth it.’

Draco stared back, trying hard to find some kind of answer. His brain has shut down, his mind stuck on a single thought. _It can’t be true._ But then Harry’s eyes were still there, on him, and he wasn’t taking anything back. Instead, he was getting closer again, and Draco couldn’t move.

‘Do you want to know what I was dreaming about that night, Draco? That night you asked me to sleep in your apartment and I said no? I was dreaming about you. How you’d let me in those fucking walls you want me to crash into. I couldn’t stay because I’d just woken from a dream where you were fucking me and telling me it was real, it wasn't just a blow-job, or just a kiss, but then it turned into a nightmare, and I was again at the War and you were dying and I couldn't save you. And when I woke up you were there. You calmed me down. You took care of me. I couldn’t stay, not after that. You made me hope.’

It was all too much. Draco didn’t realise the moment tears streaked down his face, nor was he conscious of having allowed them there. He was so numb he took some time noticing the reason behind his wet skin. He could not believe it, he was crying. There were tears under his fingertips. He cleaned them harshly with the back of his hand. But he couldn’t stop. He was fucking crying. He was crying in front of Harry fucking Potter and he couldn’t pretend any longer. He felt Harry’s hand on his arm, warm, caring.

‘Draco, I’m sorry, please, let me-’ Harry was pleading, his hand so warm over his sleeve.

‘Stop calling me that!’ he cried. He hated that he had to stifle a sob.

‘What? Draco? It’s your name,’ Harry’s voice was so tender… yet so hopeless.

Draco shook his head, tears streaming down his face somehow, as he brushed them away with his sleeve. Harry let go of his wrist.

‘I don’t, I can’t have you -’

‘What, Draco? What can’t you have me do? Calling your name?’ Harry was too close, he felt the green eyes on his face and he wished them gone, gone forever. He hadn’t allowed Harry to see him like that. ‘Draco. Do you know how fucking long I’ve waited to be allowed to call you that?’

‘Stop it. You’re not allowed. I don’t want it,’ his voice was high, trembling, blind hatred for himself taking control. His hand shot for his wand and he realised he was pointing it at Harry’s chest. Harry did not even blink. He stood there, unmoving, green eyes wet, hands open in front of him. Like he was surrendering. Surrendering to what Draco might say or do. Magic was coursing through Draco in a rage and Harry wasn’t fighting him, instead Draco could feel Harry’s magic like a soft current, throbbing, ebbing underneath the surface and it made his arms shake, the wand unsafe on his right hand. It had been years since he’d pointed a wand at Harry. He felt sick.

‘This Potter and Malfoy bullshit is just another wall,’ Harry said softly. ‘Another way for us to keep away. I’m not going back and forth around this anymore. You’re burying yourself alive inside those walls, Draco.’

‘What is it to you if I fucking don't care if I live or die? What is to you if I have a death wish?’

‘How can you even ask me that?’ Harry whispered, his eyes growing wide and lifeless. But Draco wasn’t listening. The words meant nothing.

‘I only had work,’ he said, voice trembling with fury. ‘Working with you was the only thing-... The only,’ he wasn’t making any sense, he couldn’t even finish that sentence. ‘It was the only fucking thing, now it’s impossible. So stop it, I swear to you…’ his wand arm wavered, magic crackling perilously inside the room. But then Harry’s eyes hardened and his magic built up in front of Draco, meeting it in the air, strong and purposeful, passionate, desperate. Like his voice.  
  
‘What will you do this time, Draco?’ he asked, eyes going dark, tilting his head to the side. ‘What fucked up thing are you gonna come up with to stop me? Are you gonna jinx me? Hurt me?’ he laughed and Draco felt chilled because that laugh was cold, empty, filled with sorrow. Harry smiled, a twisted broken smile. ‘I don’t fucking care. You know I can take the pain. All of it. There’s nothing else you can say or do to hurt me _more_.’

Harry looked deranged. He was broken, and Draco had done that. His brain was screaming and screaming in pain. _Stop it Harry. Stop._

‘Fucking shut up, Potter,’ he snapped and the wand tip touched Harry’s chest.

Harry pressed forward, the tip pressing on his chest, he wasn’t afraid, he was beyond that already. His hand reached over Draco’s and Draco wanted to move but he felt petrified. He felt Harry’s fingers over his own, burning him, then his hands wrapped Draco’s and the wand clattered to the floor unnoticed. Harry’s hands were cupping his face, tenderly. A strangled sob escaped Draco’s lips and he didn’t even notice it.

‘My name is Harry. It’s been years, Draco. I know I’m Harry for you, when you think no one is listening, inside your head. I’ve been Harry for you for years, still you won’t say it. What are you so afraid of?’

His hands were burning on Draco’s skin and Draco was on the verge of giving up the fight. His body swayed, closer to Harry’s, he was leaning into the warmth, he was a hair’s breadth away from letting go, from letting Harry’s arms wrap around him, from letting his own lips speak the words he was so afraid of. He’d condemn Harry with those words. Harry deserved more than what he could give him. He had nothing to give. He looked into the green eyes and somehow they calmed him enough for him to be able to control his breathing. The tears stopped. He knew he was searching for his cold mask, the only thing that could still help him now. Slowly he started shielding his mind again, veil after veil, barely feeling Harry’s hands on his cheeks.

‘That thing you’re doing just now, Draco…’ Harry whispered, and Draco felt the words more than heard them, hot on his lips. ‘You’re so convinced that because you’re such a great Occlumens no one can really reach you. But I see through,’ Harry sighed and Draco drank in his sigh. He felt the slight grasp on his mind falter.

‘Keep playing the part of the cold blooded bastard. I know it’s a part. A show you put on specially for me. I know everything about the walls, Draco. I could palm them with my hands. I’m fucking tired of knocking my head on them, fucking tired to try and break through. Sometimes I even think that you want me to break them, get inside against your will. Like you want me to force it out so you don't have any choice than to give in and then blame it on me. It's easy for you if you just let someone else take over and fuck you against a wall. But you know what?’ Harry’s hands left his face and he stepped back, looking beyond tired. ‘I don't have to break them. I won't touch you again, it’s your decision. I'm not breaking in. This warmth you want… I want to give it to you. But you have to tear down those walls, ‘cause I’m not doing it for you.’

Draco watched him, almost horror struck, his thoughts struggling for some grip on control, but they were crumbling down. He never knew Harry could say those things, never knew how much of himself he’d let Harry know.

_Fuck it, Harry. What do you want from me?_

_I want everything, Draco. Always have._

‘I can’t. Stop this. Just stop this. Please, Harry. Please,’ he was almost crying again. The walls weren’t there for him anymore.

With his heart breaking, he watched the silent fight on the green eyes. He’d hurt Harry beyond repair. But he knew Harry would never force him. Would never ask more than he could give. He was honourable. Respectful. Everything Draco had so few times received from anyone. He’d let Draco go, and that hurt almost even more.

‘Your Patronus is a stag, the same as mine...’ Harry’s voice was so gentle, so torn, Draco thought he was going to die with the sound of it. But when he didn’t, it hurt even more, because Harry kept going, his voice enveloping him. Draco could not look at him, because he knew what he’d see there and it would crush him.

‘I couldn't believe it. I think you know what that means. Love is not just a feeling. It’s also a choice. So make one.’

It took him a long time to answer. He heard his own voice from very far away, cold, sinking under his skin, on his bones, numbing him.

‘It’s done.’

Harry did not move. The green seemed hollow, like the underside of an empty bottle.

‘I need more than that,’ he said in a whisper. ‘I need you to break my heart, Draco.’

Draco drew in a breath, his chest hurting, he’d never felt so cold.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked, but he already knew.

‘Tell me you don’t love me,’ Harry said, like it was such a simple request. ‘I promise I’ll leave. But I need that. Keep your walls up and tell me you don’t love me. I won’t fight them anymore. I’ll believe you.’

He sounded so earnest, like only Harry could sound. Draco opened his mouth but no sound came out.

‘C’mmon Draco. Just fucking say it,’ Harry was pleading. He did not sound angry, just completely broken. Draco watched the darkness descending on the green eyes.

_I can’t._

Harry closed his eyes, breathing out. His eyes shot open all of a sudden. They weren’t green anymore. The dark circles under them were more visible than ever.

‘I’ll make it easy for you, Draco. I’ll keep ignoring your thoughts, I’ll just take in your words, okay?’ he said that like he was explaining it to a small child and Draco wanted to be mad but the tenderness in Harry’s voice was breaking him. ‘So say it. I’ll believe you. Even if we both know it’s a fucking lie, I’ll believe you.’

 _I can do this. It’s what I do best._ Still his voice wouldn’t come out.

‘How hard can it be after all we’ve said to each other?’ Harry pressed on. His face was wet. He looked like the shadow of a person. ‘Tell me you don’t love me. Lie to me, Draco.’

Draco’s tongue felt like parchment. He couldn’t breathe and the room was spinning. The cut on his chest ached more now than before. He would feel it his whole life.

‘I can’t,’ he said finally, trying to breathe, trying to ease the pain on his chest. ‘This is bulshit, Harry. Just go. Please, just go.’

He was fucking pleading. He couldn’t do it. Harry was shaking his head, his eyes, dark, so dark, and almost feverish now.

‘No. I need you to say it,’ his voice sounded harsh now, desperate. ‘I know you can do that for me. You are so fucking good at this, Draco. Just play the bastard again, do it for me. Is it so hard to fucking finish me off? Break me apart? Isn’t that what you wanted all along? For me to crash against you and give up?’ the sad smile ghosted over Harry’s face and it was gone just as fast. In its place was an empty line. ‘Well, this is your chance. Throw it to my face, wreck me. Say you don’t love me. I’ll give you up.’

‘This is crazy, I’m, this… Just leave-’

‘What’s wrong, Malfoy?’ Harry cried out. Only his words had feelings in them because his face was bereft of everything. ‘Fucking say it. You’ll get what you want, I’ll leave. But you owe me that. I need to hear it, I’ll let it all go, but I need you to fucking finish what you started and just break my heart. Say it. Say you don’t love me.’

There were tears on Harry’s cheeks, providing such a stark contrast with a face that showed nothing. He’d emptied Harry of everything, like he always knew he would. This was why he had to leave. Draco had never thought his heart could break anymore but it did.

‘Just go on with your act, fucking convince me, you’re the best in this. I know you can do it, Draco. I’ll even forget the Patronus if you say it. I’ll leave, you won’t see me ever again. You’ll get a Potter free life, isn’t that what you want? You don’t have to give up the Aurors. I don’t want it. Just fucking play me again, play your act, I’ll leave…’

‘You’re insane. This is insane. You’re asking me…’ he was muttering, too crazed to form a single coherent thought.

‘I need to hear it. Say it. Let me go. Fucking do it, Malfoy. Make me bleed. We’ll finally be even.’

Harry’s eyes were something heartbreaking to behold. So green and dark, so strong in their hopelessness. Always challenging him, right until the very end. Draco drank them in, engraving them on his mind forever.

‘C’mmon Draco. Let’s be even. Say it. Break me.’

He was standing on the edge of the abyss and he was going to jump. He was going to let Harry go. He had to. He was doing it for Harry.

_Fuck it Harry. Fuck you. I can’t, I can’t. Can’t take this._

‘Lie to me, Draco,’ Harry whispered. _Do it._

Draco felt like he was on free fall, he was hitting the ground, his legs felt weak, he could barely hold himself up. But still his words were out.

‘I don’t love you.’

_I love you._

The thought had come unbidden and horror filled him as it stroke Harry. Harry knew. His face was the face of heartbreak, his eyes looked hollowed, the green was empty of every feeling, stunned. It was done. The silence sank cold between them.

‘See, it wasn’t that hard, was it, Draco?’ Harry said, and the softness, the broken gentleness of his voice was Draco’s near undoing. It was almost as if Harry wanted to comfort him, to tell him it was alright even though they were both broken. ‘Destroying things is always much easier than making them,’ he added in a murmur so low it was almost inaudible.

He had tears in his eyes. That was the last thing Draco saw on his face.

And then, just like that, Harry had swiftly broken the wards with a twist of his fingers, opened the door and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the hardest chapter for me to write, the most challenging. I feel terribly vulnerable to be posting it, because I still feel pretty insecure at times about my writing. Any comments you might make are precious to me. I sincerely hope you liked this, that it made you feel something. If so, please tell me. Also, I know this was a very hard chapter for those who have been following this story so far (thank you, thank you!) but I can promise you there's a happy beautiful ending ahead and we're almost there, so don't hate me. I hope you will continue with this story, until the very end :)
> 
> The second part of it is unbetaed, so if you spot any mistakes or something that does not make sense, please tell me.


	24. Chapter 24

_"The secrets that we sold were never known"_  
**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds to Mars**

  
The door had barely banged closed, when it burst open again.

He turned around, wildly hoping or dreading Harry’s reappearance, but instead he was faced with Ginevra Weasley. And she was positively glowing with fury. He harshly cleaned his tears away with his sleeve, hating himself for having allowed her to witness them even for a second.

Luna was behind her, a look of concern on her face, and Weasley followed suit closing the door behind him.

‘What now?’ Draco spat, willing irony into his tone, but not sure he was able to. He kept brushing his sleeve over his eyes but it wasn’t exactly working. ‘Is this an intervention?’

‘Hermione went after him,’ Weasley informed, his eyes watching Draco’s face closely.

Draco stared back trying as hard as he could to look like “what’s that got to do with me?”, but failing. Potter had ruined his Occlumency skills for fucking forever.

‘So you came here to tell me how happy you are he is finally doing the right thing for himself?’ he asked, his voice trembling.

He wanted to sound disdainful, but he didn’t. Weasley sighed and he ignored it.

‘We came here because we already knew this would happen,’ Weasley said, glaring at him. ‘We knew you’d end up talking and you’d end up fucking things up.’

‘Leave me the fuck alone, all of you! I’m leaving,’ he meant to grab his bag from the bed but Ginevra stepped forward, wand at the ready. His own was still on the floor where it had fallen, but it didn’t matter because he couldn’t react, not even wandlessly. He felt empty of all magic. So he just stared as she cast a _Silentio_. He felt pinned down by her stare.

‘Out of respect for your condition I’m just gonna say this once,’ she said, her eyes blazing. ‘You hurt him again, I’m going to fucking _murder_ you.’

‘You’d be doing me a _favour’_ , he said, almost savagely. At least this was the truth. Or sort of. Luna shook her head, but Ginevra continued like she hadn’t even heard him.

‘Having said that, I have only one question...’ she went on, pacing the room, turning the wand playfully on her fingers.

Draco had to admire her nonchalance and nerve. Really, Potter clearly had a type if he was to believe the idiot was in love with him. And it wasn’t blondes, well, at least not _only_. It was the type of person who played with wands while throwing impossible things at your face. The type of person who could shut you up with just a remark. The type of person _he,_ himself, had been, once. But he wasn’t that anymore, was he? He didn’t have the nerve to be.

‘Why the fuck are you still here and not out after the man you’ve been ridiculously pining after for years?’

There was no point in denying anything, even if that was his immediate impulse. He watched his hand tremble slightly and wondered again if he had ever been the cold and collected type of person he’d performed for the last years of his life. So, instead, he focused on something else.

‘What’s the matter with you? You’re supposed to be _his_ friends,’ at least he could still sneer. Or at least attempt to. He knew it didn’t match his eyes, he felt them warm and prickling. ‘One would expect you to be happy he's finally done what's best for him,’ he paused.

Ginevra seemed unaffected by this and Weasley was leaning against the wall. Only Luna seemed to know he really believed this to be true.

‘He’s better off,’ he added in what was an attempt to sound final. It sounded hurt, instead.

Ginevra lifted a pointed eyebrow at him, her wand turning between her fingers, fast and impatient. Draco remembered quite well being hit by one of her powerful Bat-Bogey Hexes. He was sure he’d prefer _that_ , than what was probably coming.   

‘We're also _your_ friends, haven't you noticed?’

‘Right now that really makes us question our sanity,’ Weasley added in an amusing tone.

‘You should have that checked out, you’re in the right place,’ he was answering it even before he knew. Bickering had always come easily between them, after all.

He tried a smirk and it felt weird on his face. He needed to leave that room, he’d never needed a smoke more. He looked again at his cigarette pack on the window-sill. He wouldn’t be able to pick it up, not after Potter touched it like that. Almost tenderly. Too intimate. He had to get a new one. His brain was sidetracking him, he knew, but anything was preferable than the reality. Weasley was still talking, but not to him.

‘You know Ginny, sometimes I really think Harry has lost it. This has gotta be the thickest bloke he’s ever fallen for.’

Draco watched the slight smile on Ginevra’s face. He knew what they were doing and he didn’t want to react to it, but nonetheless something was stirring inside him. Something _alive_.

‘The only _one_ , you mean,’ Ginevra said, turning her smile on Draco. Teasing. Her choice of words intentional, as everything she ever did or said. She should have been in Slytherin, he thought quite suddenly. And _he_ was a Slytherin, he wasn’t going to give it to her, he wasn’t going to. He wasn’t.

‘Well, he fell for you and you were clearly brighter than-’

‘I’m standing right here, you know,’ he cut over Weasley. _Damn it._ He really hoped he had sounded sarcastic.

‘Are you really?’ Ginevra asked in a mock-innocent tone. ‘Well, it does prove the point.’

‘What does?’

 _Fuck_. He was really falling for the Weasleys’ crap, wasn’t he? Did it matter? Nothing seemed to matter anymore, really.

‘Seriously man, how thick can you be?’

‘I could answer that, Weasley, but I don’t think you’d like the answer,’ there, now, he wasn’t dead yet. He still had it in him.

Ginevra let out a chuckle. Weasley did not look amused. Draco did not like that look at all. He looked dead serious and whenever Weasley thought anything serious enough to not laugh it meant bad news.

‘Harry just left, you berk, do you know what that means?’

‘That for once we agreed we’re better apart than together and he had the sense to act accordingly?’ he tried again for his usual drawl but realised with dread that it wasn’t there. His hands were still shaking. He wished he could stop that. Everything. Where the fuck was his control? Apparently out of the door, with fucking Harry Potter.

Ginevra raised another eyebrow at him. Draco could not help but feel annoyed at it.

‘Draco, is that supposed to be sarcasm? ‘Cause I know you could do better.’

He had no retort. Ginevra took hold of his silence to pin him to the ground with her words.

‘I’ll tell you what it means,’ she said slowly. She stepped closer to him and he wished she couldn’t see his hands shake, or his red-rimmed eyes, but he was quite sure she did. ‘It means you just let your pride and fear win. He’s not coming back for you.’

‘Like I want that,’ it was pure defence. Mindless sarcasm. Something to hold on to.

‘Oh Draco. Just give up the act,’ she said carelessly. ‘How long have you been in love with him?’

‘Am not,’ he snapped. Automatically. He could deny it. It was simple. No one could prove it, Luna was the only one who knew it directly from him and he would trust her with his life, she’d never betray him. But Ginevra’s eyes were ablaze on him and he could not avoid them anymore.

‘You sure look like you are,’ she said, and she didn’t sound sarcastic anymore. She sounded like someone who could read into him. ‘You can’t even go and fuck him already because you know it isn’t just that. You keep fucking around, but not with Harry, even though he’s clearly your type,’ he opened his mouth, but she stopped him with her stare. Damn, she was good.

‘I’ve seen you checking out every dark haired bloke with Harry’s build. Seriously, who are you kidding? Those bartenders? They all looked like Harry - but clearly not as hot, right? I think everyone else in this room can confirm that tendency for the times I wasn’t there,’ she looked sideways at Weasley, who had the nerve to nod in agreement. _Fuck Weasley._

‘But do you want more evidence?’ she pressed on and Draco willed his heart to stop battering him. ‘You’re not just attracted to him. I see the way you look at him, Draco. You look at him like he’s _everything_. And you fucking can’t help it,’ she smiled, and the smile wasn’t a challenge, it was so understanding Draco forgot to look defensive.

‘I know it because I’ve been in love with him. I also looked at him like that, like the world was a better place because Harry is in it. And anyone would want to be close to him, so when he chooses you, you fucking can’t help it, you feel like the luckiest person alive and he doesn't even know it, doesn't even get it, he always acts like he’s the lucky one,’ she paused, and Draco could not avoid her words or her eyes. ‘But you and I… we know the truth.’

Suddenly they were alone, the both of them, sharing something Draco would never admit but that he knew to be truth, and then she knew it too. And there was no way for him to run from this now.

‘We know we’re the lucky ones everytime he looks at us,’ she said, her voice quiet. ‘And then he smiles, and we know something in that smile is ours and it’s the best feeling in the world. And he smiles like that around you, I’ve seen it. _You’re the lucky one, Draco._ And you’re a fucking idiot because no matter how much it kills you, you won’t admit it, you prefer to watch him go and break his heart and your own,’ she was now so close and, even though he was taller, he felt himself being pressed down under her fiery look. She pointed at his chest, in a dramatic gesture. ‘Oh yes, Draco. I know you have one of those in there, was that a secret too?’

When he couldn’t think of anything to say to her because his mouth felt like parchment and his mind felt hit by a train, she went on.

‘Luna thinks you’ll end up finding your way towards him, but I’ve never had her patience. I can’t watch Harry get more hurt, he’s been through enough. Just fucking do something about it.’

‘I know you think you’re sparing him more suffering, just by staying away, but that’s not the truth, Draco,’ it was Luna. Hearing her speak made him want to cry. She came closer and he let her hold his hand. She was almost the only one he’d let this close to him. ‘You can make him happy. He believes so. We believe so.’

They didn’t know what they were saying. He could never make anyone happy, he was a mess. He didn’t even make himself happy. How could he bring anything to Harry’s life other than suffering? He didn’t know any better. He’d fucked everything up with everyone he loved. He’d kept his mother away, hurting them both, even though he’d known she’d never stop caring. Even though he knew he was killing her by cutting her out of his life. She wanted to be a part of his life. She wasn’t like Lucius. She didn’t condemn who he was, who he might love, who he might want. He knew this even without asking. His mother was no fool. She’d known about Potter immediately. And she’d been happy about it, relieved, even. She wanted him to be cared for. And Potter cared for him. So Draco had done what he knew best. Driven him away. As he had done with his mother. As he’d tried several times with Luna, actually. He was sure Luna only stayed because she was too good a person to leave him. Because she never conformed to anything but her own way. He looked into Luna’s clear wide eyes. If there was one person he could not lie to was Luna. But he couldn’t believe her either.

‘He thinks we’re mad,’ Luna said, turning to her girlfriend, who just nodded back.

There was a knock on the door and Hermione Granger was there, her bushy hair looking more disheveled than ever and her face flustered from running.

‘I couldn’t stop him,’ she said in a wrecked, out of breath voice. ‘He Disapparated and made me promise I wouldn’t follow, even though I think I know where he might have gone to…’ she paused to take a breath and stalked over to Draco looking more like Minerva McGonagall than ever. ‘He’s leaving England today. _You_ are going to do something about that right now, Draco.’

It wasn’t a question. He stared mutely at her.

‘Have you told him?’ she asked to no one in particular.

‘Yes,’ Weasley said. ‘Maybe he’s still a coward.’

He didn’t have it in him to get mad at the insult. He just stared back at Granger’s face as she eyed him silently.

‘You still don’t believe it,’ she said in an amazed tone, shaking her head. ‘Think, Draco. Would we even be here if we didn’t believe he’s better with you than without? Harry deserves all the happiness in the world. And you’re it for him.’

Probably it was because she was Hermione Granger and he admired her intellect and her sensibility and probably everything else about her after years of getting to know her. Or maybe it was because she was one of Harry’s best friends, someone who had been there through it all and knew how dark it all had been. How dark it became for Harry. Or maybe it was because she was right. Right as always. The room was filled with people who loved Harry. But it was Hermione Granger who did it. Or Luna’s hand in his, not letting go, no matter what. Or that he’d rather die than make Ronald Weasley right about something. Or the fact that Ginevra Weasley would kill him if he didn’t go now. He found he couldn’t lie to himself. Not anymore.

He stared at them, feeling tears well up in his eyes and he wasn’t going to cry, he wasn’t, he was a Slytherin in a room filled with Gryffindors and a very strange Ravenclaw, who happened to be his best friend. But did it matter? Wasn’t that just a bunch of stereotypes? He wanted a Gryffindor. He loved a Gryffindor. He also loved those people in front of him now, they’d showed him a possible life after the War. He wanted to look at himself and see someone worthy. He himself wanted to believe he was worth something, that he was someone worth saving and that Harry wasn’t wrong to get him out of those flames. Or out of that warehouse. That Harry was right in what he saw in him.

‘I was horrible to him, I hurt him too much,’  he whispered, speaking fast so it wouldn’t hurt even more. ‘It's too late’ They were all listening to him. ‘He didn’t deserve any of it and I pushed him away, too far-’ he couldn’t go on.

His voice got strangled on his throat. He didn’t care for the tears, even though they were all watching. So this was how vulnerable felt. Raw. Human. He looked up. No one was judging him. They all looked like they’d been waiting on this.

‘This is the Draco he sees,’ Luna said simply.

He remembered all the dark nights she had been there for him. All the moments he thought he wouldn’t see another day. He still felt like he didn’t deserve all this love. But that was wrong, he knew. Her eyes were soft and gentle on his.

‘That's who you are, what you have been for me all these years. That's who he sees, who he wants,’ Luna said.

Ginevra’s voice seemed to seep through him, coming from very far away.

‘It’s not too late. If that man is someone you want in your life right now, you better go after him.’

He barely nodded, then turned to his bag on the bed, opened it and took out the sweater, finishing dressing. It was so warm, like Harry. He brushed a hand through his hair. He was scared to death. And that told him that he needed to do it. He was not a coward anymore. It was time. He picked up his wand, stepped towards the door, then turned back. He wanted to say “thank you” but nothing came out.

‘Don’t you go soft on us now, Malfoy,’ Ginevra said in a mock tone, but her eyes were warm.

He gave a half-laugh. Weasley looked at him.  
  
‘He’d have gone somewhere… important to him. Not Grimmauld. Not work.’  
  
Draco nodded.

There was a place he knew about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes all we need is... friendship :) and a little nudge in the right direction, right? 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this story thus far and for all your comments and support! Well, can you guess what's coming next? What did you like about this chapter? 
> 
> SPOILER ALERT!!!  
> .  
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> .  
> .  
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> For all those of you who are heartbroken... well, happiness is coming. And did I mention... shameless porn? Well, there's that too. Don't forget the rate for this fic is *Explicit* and when that chapter is up I'll be adding more tags with warnings :) 
> 
> I'm currently writing chapter 26 (where all the smut will be happening) and it's already 22 pages long because I couldn't help myself and also because I wrote 20 pages of suffering on chapter 23 so I wanted to give that to myself and you. Also I have the two last chapters already mostly done! I already miss the characters :x I'll probably write at least one "one-shot" with them later on, because I'll need to return to Hurricane's version of Harry and Draco - after all, I spent most of this year with them, from february till now, so I'm not ready to say goodbye just yet. 
> 
> Your comments mean everything to me <3 tell me your hopes and dreams for these two, and maybe I'll be inspired to add something, your insights are amazing! And thank you again to my wonderful beta Epoxide who is awesome, reads everything, gives me amazing feedback and encouragement and spots things I never thought of!


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... it's finally here and I couldn't wait anymore to post this! Anyone been waiting for some happiness? This chapter is dedicated to all romantic sappy people out there (like me). Hope you love reading this as much as I loved writing it <3

_"Do you really want?_  
_Do you really want me?"_  
**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds to Mars**

Harry kneeled on the ground and took out his wand.

From the tip, a crown of lilies burst, placed gently upon the cold graves. He hadn’t been in Godric’s Hollow in a long time. He looked at the names, feeling them silently staring back at him. It was at times like this that he felt more alone than ever. He sat there for a while, not caring if his jeans got wrinkled and dirty on the ground, not caring about anything at all, his mind filled with thoughts of Draco. He looked up at the grave. They were his parents, they had a right to know why he was leaving them.

‘There’s this man… Draco Malfoy. We were enemies, then partners at the job, then I thought we were friends… then I fell for him. I’ve been falling for him for years. Seven years. I’m in love with him,’ even there, alone, he trembled as he said it. It sounded foreign, even though he’d known it for a long a time. He felt defenceless saying it out loud. But it was the only truth he had left.

He stared at his mother’s name. He imagined saying that to her, tried to picture her face, her eyes, what she’d say or do.

‘I’m in love with him,’ he repeated, listening closely to how it sounded out loud. Vulnerable. True. ‘You don’t know him, but… this man…  he’s _infuriating_ . He always got under my skin. But the worse is… he’s changed so much. I never thought anyone could change this much but he did, and I fell in love,’ he played with a bit of dirt from the ground. It was cold, but gave him something to do. ‘He’s so strong, he’s the most powerful wizard I know, but he’s so scared at the same time. Scared of feeling. He thinks he’s not worth it, but I can’t make him believe it, can I? No one can save another person. Not even me. I'm too fucked up to tell him how I feel, I can’t say it out loud to him. _I don’t want to be the one fighting anymore_. I can’t. I’m leaving him. And England, and this fucked up job… everything.’

‘Can I give you a reason to stay?’

Harry looked up fast, his heart hammering violently against his chest.

Draco Malfoy was standing there, looking at him, grey eyes like rain. There were a million things Harry wanted to scream at him but none came out, his heart was fighting its way out of him for sure. He just took in Draco, his shallow pale face, winter eyes and how the green cashmere sweater made him look so stunning Harry could not breathe.

For a split second he thought of Disapparating just to get away, but his brain was on shutdown. He was sure he was dreaming. He had to. Draco was in Godric’s Hollow, wearing the gift he’d given him. Something finally came out and his voice sounded unrecognizable.

‘I thought you hated green.’

 _What the fuck am I even saying?_ Like that was the important thing to say. He had so much inside him, he felt he was going to die from it.

But Draco did not seem to find what he said weird at all. If anything, he looked at Harry like that was precisely the right thing to say. Draco held his eyes on his and stepped forward, slowly, as if he was building up courage. Everything looked like a dream. It couldn’t be real. Harry realised he was on his feet, even though he did not remember standing up at all.

‘I do hate it,’ Draco’s voice broke out, then came back and there was a small smile on his face. It was such a sincere smile that Harry fixed his eyes on it, expecting to wake up at any moment.

‘I hate it everytime you look at me and I lose track of what I'm saying or thinking. I hate it when I can't stop looking at you, no matter where we are. I hate it because those eyes, those eyes drive me crazy... I hate it when I keep seeing them on me, even though you’re not there. When I wake up alone at night and I can feel them,’ there was a tinge of colour on his pale face and it made everything that much more surreal. He’d never seen Draco blush. ‘I hate it especially when you’re looking at me like you are now and I can't look away and I feel like I want nothing more than to be able to look at you everyday, even if just for a moment. I've hated it for years... see, the problem is that… it's not working, Harry,’ he laughed. It was a strange laugh. Nervous, anxious. So little like Draco. His eyes were on Harry’s, unwavering. Harry was drowning helplessly in them.

‘Hate kept me going but now it doesn't get me anywhere. I have to mean it and I don't,’ he stopped, seemingly out of breath.

‘What are you talking about?’ Harry managed to ask, heart on his throat. This had to be a joke. A cruel joke played by his fucked up brain. He needed a Mind Healer, Hermione was right. He was finally ready to accept that he needed help.

‘You’re not going crazy, Harry,’ Draco said, an understanding smile on his face. ‘This is real. This is me.’

‘You… I,’ Harry couldn’t think. He couldn’t take more back and forth. More games. ‘I can't do this anymore. You keep confusing me, you said you didn’t want me, you were ready to give it all up and now... I have to go,’ he turned to leave, but Draco was speaking and his voice was raw and exposed like a wound to the air.

‘Harry… I’m so sorry. I suck at this. I really do,’ Draco gave a short nervous laugh and it rippled through Harry, making him dizzy. It made him stop on his tracks. Draco Malfoy was again apologizing. It was the second time in his life that happened and still he didn’t know how to react. But he had to listen, like the last time. He turned to look at him.

‘I know I hurt you too much. You have every right to not listen to me now. But… will you?’

Draco looked so scared. But there was something else entirely stirring inside his eyes, something that was breaking out, pouring into his voice, into his eyes. It felt different, so different. He brushed a hair strand from his face, his eyes not leaving Harry’s, his hand shaking. And it made Harry stay, his heart coming out of his throat, his head hazy.

 _Yes_ , his mind answered, for he couldn’t speak.

‘Thank you,’ Draco bit his lip, and breathed out slowly. He looked too real now, with his hair slightly disheveled like he’d Apparated too quickly, and the flush on his face was still there, more visible now. He looked so young and it took Harry back, back to when they were both too young and lost. He wished suddenly that everything had been different, that they hadn’t been in different sides of that damned War. Life was a very strange thing. And his mind worked in mysterious ways because the man he loved was standing right there and he was lost in strange unhelpful thoughts. Draco smiled at him. Like he knew. He probably did.

‘You know, it took Ginevra Weasley to verbally punch me into fucking doing something and go after the man I want. She should have hexed me. Or Granger should. Any of them, really. I certainly deserved it.’

Harry felt stunned. _The man he wanted?_ It was too weird to hear this tone of raw admission on Draco’s voice.

‘What?!’

Draco was walking slowly towards him and Harry couldn’t move.

‘Your ex-girlfriend is quite fierce, as you know,’ there it was, that smile again. It went straight through Harry and burned him relentlessly. He wasn’t imagining it. ‘She seemed to think I was making the biggest mistake of my life. I’ve done many, but she’s right. This was by far the worst.’

‘What are you saying? It can’t be…’ his voice faltered.

‘That’s what I thought, you know?’ Draco was so close now Harry could see every thin line on his face. Lines on his forehead from his usual frown, lines around his eyes from narrowing them so much, lines around his mouth from pressing his lips together so many times. Lines, lines that told a story… lines Harry could not help but love.

‘Every time you got closer to me I just thought I was really, finally, going crazy. I turned you into my personal war, because I never knew any different. I had to hate you. Then I didn’t. I found out that I could never go back to hating you. What was there left for me to do? You fucking mess me up, you terrify me every time you look at me, you turned my whole world upside down, you keep saving me, but it doesn’t matter because that’s not why I love you.’

 _Love_. Harry felt dizzy. The way he’d said it, the simplicity of it. _“Because that’s not why I love you”_. Reality flickered away and only Draco stood, the lines changing on his face, his voice so unbearably fragile, seeping through Harry’s skin.

‘I can’t stop thinking about you, Harry. I dream about you,’ he choked out another nervous laugh. He was now visibly flushed and Harry couldn’t quite believe it. ‘I fucking _wank_ thinking about you and you’ve been my walking wet dream for so many years that I can’t even-’ he swallowed nervously. ‘But, this is just the beginning, you see?’ he took another step and was now standing so close, Harry could feel his breath on his face. Draco’s eyes were soft grey, like falling rain.

‘I’m so scared of saying this, but that’s why I need to say it,’ he said in a small voice.

He let out a long breath, his eyes locked on Harry’s.

‘I wasn’t ready for you. Still am not. But… I think no one is ready to fall in love. That’s why we say fall, isn’t it? No one plans to fall down the stairs, it just happens to you. It happened to me, but I don’t want to keep falling, I want to stand. To stay in love. It’s a choice, as you said,’ his eyes were the only thing Harry could see now and he’d never known there were so many gradients of grey in the world.

‘What I’m trying to say is… I’m in love with you, Harry. I’ve been in love with you for seven years, and I don’t know where it started or how, but I am. And I want you. In every way you’ll have me... _If_ you’ll still have me.’

 

***

 

Harry’s eyes were a sight to behold.

They were wide on his face, the deepest green Draco had ever seen. He didn’t even had the time to wonder about Harry’s answer because everything on Harry’s face was telling him _yes_.

_Yes, yes, yes._

He dared not close his eyes for fear of losing it, this moment where light split Harry’s face, tearing down the pain, brushing it aside, leaving only gentle traces of it that one could follow and if Draco hadn’t been in love before he would have been now, because nothing compared to this. It was the most beautiful thing Draco had ever seen, and this, this right there was one of the many reasons Harry was worth facing all of his fears.

Harry didn’t speak and Draco was almost grateful for it because it was already too much like this and he wasn’t done yet. He had never been so nervous in his whole life, and that included the time when he had lived with a psychopath under his roof. Facing Harry Potter with his heart laid bare was worse than anything he’d done and that was why he needed to step up and let it all out.

Harry was so close, Draco felt his desire pulsing, rushing through him and it was almost impossible to resist the pull. Draco forced himself to step back. Something drifted past Harry’s eyes - fear. He thought he was being rejected again.

‘No, Harry. Let me speak. I have to keep some distance because I can’t think straight so close to you…’ he said it in a rush. It was weird to speak his mind like that, to not keep it inside. He felt himself blush and that was also weird. Harry was clearly thinking along the same lines, his eyes were even wider, his lips open and wet. Draco wanted to kiss them - so, so badly - but if he did he wouldn’t be able to stop. He’d wasted so much time already. Seven bloody years of not kissing the man he wanted.

‘I can’t hide behind what my body wants anymore. I have to face this… you.’

Harry barely nodded. Their bodies were fighting a losing battle, but they both struggled to keep still.

‘I never thought I deserved someone like you. You tried to show me we’re not that different anymore, I kept pushing you away. Denying it, but you were there, reading into me… You made me understand that I needed to save myself, for myself, because I’m still worthy. I still can’t believe it. I… need a Mind Healer,’ he took a deep breath and Harry’s eyes flickered bright, understanding, knowing. ‘I need to take care of myself, to finally deal with the damage… But I know what I want. It took me this long but… You’re worth me facing the thing I’m most afraid of.’

Harry’s eyes were so bright on his face, so warm. Draco knew it was taking everything he had to keep still, to not reach out and touch him. But he knew he wouldn’t, because Draco had asked. He watched Harry’s hands, slightly scarred and he remembered how powerful he was with a wand, how those fingers sparked with blunt magic, but also how warm and gentle they really were. He wanted those hands on him. _Everywhere._

‘What is it?’ Harry asked, almost shyly. ‘The thing you’re most afraid of.’

Draco let every guard down and looked into the green eyes. It was time. The truth will out.

‘You already know, Harry. Allowing myself to be loved back,’ he said.

He resisted the intense urge to look away from Harry, he felt too exposed, too fragile. But he’d had enough of compartmentalizing. He’d had enough of everything Lucius had taught him. He wanted to be ridden of it, of those heavy old  ideas that had battered him, made him miserable - all his life. He wanted to be clean of it, free of it, to be able to look into Harry’s eyes and know, with full-proof certainty, what he did now. That there was no shame in loving someone this much. That there was no shame in being vulnerable, in feeling bare, in speaking the truth. In allowing someone in.  

And suddenly his hands were on either side of Harry’s face, caressing his stubble, his fingers brushing lightly over his chin, and Harry was leaning into his touch, his warmth spreading over Draco. He’d never known how much he longed to do just this. The touch ignited them both and Harry closed his eyes against the sudden shiver that ran through him. Draco felt it under his fingertips, but he himself wasn’t trembling. He knew what he wanted, now, and when he spoke his voice was deep, rough and heavy with desire.

‘Look at me, Harry.’

Harry opened his eyes. They were wet behind his glasses and they made Draco’s body flare up.

‘I don't hate it,’ he said slowly, and his lips were on Harry’s forehead and then over the famous scar. The scar he’d hated once, in another life. He felt Harry’s sharp intake of breath at the contact. ‘I know you are not going to believe me this easily, so I'm going to tell you. And _show_ you.’

His hands stroked Harry’s face and one finger traced those lips that had kept him awake so many nights. Harry choked out a moan. It was still too good to be true, how Harry reacted to his every touch. Harry’s eyes were open, dark green, and as Draco knew it would be, everything was written clearly on them. That was Harry, the man who wore his heart on his sleeve. The man he loved.

‘About that night… _the_ blow job night, as I started calling it in my head. It wasn’t just a blow job. I lied. It was the best fucking blow job of my life, did you know?’ he laughed, and Harry shook his head, but he was smiling, beyond his surprise. It was that half-shy, half-shag-me-now smile Draco had never been able to resist.

‘Well, now you know,’ he said. ‘I was a fucking bastard the next day, I lied because I thought the only possible outcome was you regretting everything that happened that night. I didn’t need to hear it, to know that you’d never do it again, I thought. It hurt so much that I decided that I wouldn’t listen to your excuse and so I shoved you off before you could do it. And then I kept lying and working every waking moment to not think of it or of you. And it became harder and harder still because it was not just a blow job, I thought about it everyday since. I tried convincing myself that the only thing you might want with me was a shag with an Ex-Death-Eater, like that could be your kink and then it would all be over. But I knew this was a lie.’

Harry was watching him silently, and Draco moved his hands over Harry’s chest, feeling his warmth. Somehow, feeling Harry under his hands helped grounding him. Under his fingertips there was a heart, a pounding heart, so _alive_. It wasn’t so broken now.

‘Working with you, seeing you everyday and not touching you has been a living hell for me, but I stayed because not seeing you would be worse. Then, I thought I could get away from you, break my heart and yours as I did this morning. But I... _I don’t want to_ ,’ he said this slowly, solemnly, his face burning, his heart thrumming on his throat, his hands stilling over Harry’s chest. ‘I want you, Harry. This is the truth. I have wanted you for Merlin knows how long.’

For a moment, Harry seemed to be stunned. Draco could not breathe. He knew he needed to give Harry time to adjust to this, but right now he felt that if Harry didn’t say anything in the next second he was going to be sick. His stomach felt tied in a knot, his nerves so frayed he couldn’t keep his hands from shaking.

Then something happened to Harry’s face. He laughed. It was a pure, rough laugh that reverberated through his chest, tingling Draco’s fingertips and his lips opened in a smile that seared itself into Draco. He burst fully into laughing and Draco was at a loss for words. He felt himself smile and didn’t know what to do with that too. He wasn’t used to smiling like that, so broadly, the muscles on his face felt weird.

‘You…,’ Harry was trying to speak although he could not stop laughing. Harry’s fingers entwined with Draco’s and he held his hand close to his lips. It felt insanely good. ‘You… are… the… most… impossible… git I have ever met,’ he finished.

He lifted his eyes and Draco was torn between wanting to kiss him just then and feeling offended. To keep the last remnants of his sanity, he decided on the last and lifted his eyebrows. It was the last Malfoy stare on his catalogue.

‘What?’

‘You didn’t know what I was gonna say, but you _decided_ that I regretted it and so you took it upon you to shove me away instead of just asking?’

‘It made sense at the time,’ Draco said. He knew he was sounding put off. Harry was grinning. Draco wanted to feel annoyed at it, but the muscles on his face did not agree. He was finding out he would probably do just about anything to keep Harry smiling like this.

‘I… Draco… you really are a git. A fucking beautiful, gorgeous one, but still a git.’

Well, he was blushing. Again. _Do Malfoys blush?_ , he asked himself, but decided the answer was not even important. Malfoys weren’t supposed to be queer and he was. And he was fucking queer for Harry Potter, he was sure there would be nothing less Malfoyish than that and he was damned proud of it. He no longer cared what Malfoys were supposed to be and so he smiled, blushing even more.

‘Haven’t heard you asking me anything, either,’ he said, more to have a comeback of some sort than because he believed it.

Harry was eying him amusedly, but Draco could not be bothered because Harry was also kissing his hand. Tiny, gentles kisses over his fingers that were making him dizzy.

‘True,’ Harry said, between the kisses. ‘But would you have answered me? Like… you, talking feelings? Are you kidding me?’

‘Point,’ it was hard to have a conversation with Harry’s lips opening up over his hand, warm and wet. Those were supposed to be innocent kisses, but apparently Draco’s body wasn’t able to make that distinction anymore. He was burning up and desperate to have that mouth on every part of him.

He blinked and tried to focus on what he wanted to say.

‘But you see…. I had my reasons. Fucked up ones, but I had them. It’s actually your fault and Luna’s.’

‘Say what?’ Harry had a frown on his forehead but he was still smiling and Draco knew that expression so well he wanted to laugh out loud. How could he notice so many small things about this person and not fall for him? But he needed to explain something else, and that wasn’t going to happen with Harry holding his hand. He removed it slowly, Harry’s eyes watching him with amusement, knowing fully well why Draco was doing that.

‘Hear me out,’ he said, running his hand through his hair. He was still quite afraid of sounding ridiculous. ‘If you love someone, you care for them. Right? You want them to be happy. At least, that’s what I’ve learned, I’m not really an expert on the matter. But Luna said it’s supposed to work like this. And also, that’s…’ he swallowed, glanced at Harry, saw his surprised eyes on him and went on. ‘That’s what you do. The way you love. You care. For Hermione, Weasley, Ginevra… I saw you loving them for years. You always go for what’s best for them. So I came to this conclusion. I… I wasn’t able to make you happy, I had to send you away, so I made us both miserable. Does that make any sense?’

Now that he said out loud, he felt too vulnerable. His hands were shaking again, but Harry was there and he was cupping Draco’s face with his warm hands. And his eyes were so understanding.  

‘Draco… yes. It makes a twisted, stupid, fucked-up sense, but that’s the only sense we seem to make,’ Harry said, his voice hoarse. He leant forward, pressing his forehead against Draco’s lips again. They stood like that for a long time, not moving, just breathing against each other.

‘I… you were right. I’m a coward,’ Draco murmured against his skin. ‘I couldn’t face this. I’ve never felt like this about anyone.’

Harry stepped back to look at him.

‘I don’t think you’re a coward, Draco,’ he said.

Draco’s breath got caught on his throat.

‘Why do you always do this?’ he asked.

‘What?’

‘See the best in me. See something I don’t,’ he said in a whisper. He wanted to avoid the green eyes but it had been too long and now that he had them on his he couldn’t keep away.

‘That’s what you do with me,’ Harry said simply.

‘Why are you smiling like a fucking git?’ Draco asked, feeling too nervous to keep the snide out of his voice. Harry smiled even more, like he was expecting exactly that.

‘Because now you can stop blaming yourself. Now you can stop making yourself into something you’re not and just fucking let me love you.’

Well, there it was. Harry Potter being so blunt it was like taking a Stinging Hex to the heart. He had that look on his face, the one Ginevra had talked about. He was looking at Draco like Draco was _everything_. To be on the receiving end of that look made Draco feel lucky to be alive, and that was something he’d never hoped feeling. _Lucky to be alive. Lucky to be loved._ His heart was on his throat.

‘But what if I… I’m still not sure if I’m able to… make you happy, I mean. You of all people know I’m hard to be around. I’m a fucking mess. I don’t know how you can-’

Harry stopped him with a finger placed gently over his lips.

‘Draco, I’m a fucking mess too. I fucked up the few relationships I had. I fucking need therapy - I should have listened to Hermione ages ago. I don’t know if I can make you happy, either. But I know your flaws, you know mine and we still want each other. I want to try.’

Draco could not believe it. He felt like he was finally exactly where he wanted to be. Well, not yet. There was one step left. Just one. And he felt so lucky, he believed he could really take that step.

‘I want to try, too,’ he looked right into Harry’s eyes, and they widened and focused intensely on him, expectant.

‘Just so we’re clear on what try means… When I say try, I mean… that word you said... _boyfriend_ ,’ his voice cracked. ‘I want that.’

Admitting it was so hard he had to resist the intense urge to look at the ground, or anywhere else instead of Harry’s eyes. Some part of him was half expecting rejection. This reality where Harry Potter wanted him this much was still so strange.

‘You're serious,’ Harry’s voice shook. Draco was glad he wasn’t the only one feeling this nervous.

‘Yes, you fucking tosser,’ he gritted through his teeth. ‘You think I'd say something this fucking sappy and not be serious?’ his eyebrows were lifted and he was trying for that posh look he knew how to do so well, but clearly failing because Harry was grinning.

‘Is this your way of asking me to be your boyfriend, Malfoy?’ Harry said, his grin turning into a teasing smile.

Draco’s heart was beating wildly on his chest. That smile should be considered a crime. Someone should pass legislation on this.

‘I… well, yes, Potter. I know this isn’t the best way to do it, you’d probably want something more-’

Harry pulled him close so suddenly that Draco almost lost his balance. They swayed on the spot, Harry’s arms steadying him, tender and assured.

‘Shut up, you wanker, just kiss me,’ Harry said, breathless, against his lips.

‘You didn’t answer,’ Draco valiantly managed to say, Harry’s scent all around him.

‘I want to be your boyfriend, Draco. I want everything about you. With you. Now will you fucking kiss me already?’

The world shifted then, in a way Draco thought only happened in Muggle stories and silly romances. It was a strange thought to have with Harry’s lips waiting, parted, right there for the taking. There was nothing else keeping them apart and the minutes stretched in front of him, as he breathed in Harry, their mutual want, raw on their skin, their magic building up around them, entwined and free.

He leaned in just slightly, following the irresistible pull, knowing he could finally dive into it, no barriers, no lies, and Harry waited, he waited, eyes green and dark and wanting, until Draco was ready.

Draco’s lips brushed against Harry’s and then their bodies crashed together.

 

***

 

Harry barely registered when the pain once in his heart bordered on pleasure on his lips and then on his whole body, sending him reeling.

Nothing could have prepared him for this feeling of having Draco breaching his mouth, willingly, longingly, no rush, just a deep seated need as he coaxed Harry’s mouth open, his teeth biting slowly into Harry’s under lip, hurting, then his tongue licking over it. Pain and pleasure, Draco was a master in both and Harry wanted this so much his brain was having trouble catching up with reality. Draco’s tongue flickered over his lip again, then his teeth sank there, sweet pain shooting from that point of connection and Harry heard himself gasp against Draco’s mouth.

Draco’s hands went to his arms, keeping him steady and then he was grabbing his coat, pulling their bodies together and kissing him full on the mouth. There were no walls. Harry was inside, beyond even, he had Draco in his arms and it wasn’t a dream.

_Touch me, please. Tell me this is real._

Draco’s warm tongue touched his. _This is real._ His hands fisted his hair, harsh, then soft, then one hand skittered behind his neck and Draco was drawing them even closer, as if it was possible. There wasn’t any space in between them anymore, then Harry’s hands slid down Draco’s back eliciting a sudden whimper against his mouth. Draco’s lips gave in under his and opened for him. _This is real._ His tongue was inside Draco’s mouth. He tasted like rain, like desperation and want, like a long time coming. _This is real._ A strangled noise rose up in between them. There was no way he was making that sound come out of Draco’s lips.

Just to prove him wrong, Draco moaned loudly into his mouth and that sound turned every nerve on Harry’s body into flames. _This is real._ His hands could not keep still anymore. They moved of their own accord, skimming every part of Draco’s body, down his back, around his firm arse, gripping hard, demanding, almost crushing Draco against him and then up again until they tangled themselves on the blonde hair. _This is real._ A muffled cry echoed inside his mouth. Draco. There was no mistaking that sound. It was pure arousal and it went straight into Harry’s mouth and then down to his cock. He was fucking hard from just a kiss. A kiss that contained a lifetime.

Draco’s hands were now everywhere on his body, hard and hurting and burning him. Draco reached in and grabbed his collar, the tips of his fingers brushing over Harry’s visible skin. He wanted to succumb under them. To give up every control he’d ever had, to lay bare under Draco and give him everything he asked for. He felt infinite.

‘Harry… I want you… I fucking want you. I’ve always wanted you.’

Draco’s voice against his ear was almost too much. Draco’s lips opened over his neck, teeth brushing there. _Mark me,_ he thought, at the same time that Draco’s teeth sunk into his skin and he was lost. As Draco sucked on his neck, oh so very slowly, he felt like melting, like his body couldn’t take it. Agony and arousal on the tip of Draco’s mouth. He was getting painfully hard and he felt Draco laugh against his skin, his teeth finally releasing him, his exposed wet skin coming in contact with the cold air and his whole body was on overdrive.

Draco looked at him, with eyes like fire, his lips red and wet, and his hands were searching now under the hem of Harry’s shirt, his nails biting into his skin as they clambered up and down his back in a rush, marking his skin where they went. Harry let out a strangled cry and didn’t even recognize himself. It was like fighting, but there were no lies, no foul accusations, no holding back. It was like those crazy nights, but now they were both sober as can be. Harry was pressed under Draco and he liked this better than fighting. He was so hard it hurt and he felt Draco’s length pressing against his. He kissed Draco hard, biting down on his lip, teasing his mouth open and he marvelled at the way he went so easily, how Draco’s whole body molded to his, how it fitted under his demanding hands. Suddenly it was impossible to hold it in anymore.

He forced himself out of that kiss and held Draco at an arm's length, both panting hard, while he was trying to steady himself with a force of will he didn't even know he had.

‘Draco…’, he began.

His own voice sounded strange to him, hoarse and low, and out of breath. He didn’t even know how he wanted that sentence to end. _Fuck me? Take me to bed and rip me apart? Or better yet, don’t take me to bed, just fuck me here, now?_ And another voice, admonishing: _you’re in a fucking graveyard, Harry, get a grip. Those are your parents graves._ And then: _don’t stop? Please, Draco, I have wanted this for…_ He couldn’t even think straight. Funny how that sounded. Maybe that was what he should tell him. _Draco, I can’t think straight around you._ Or maybe…

Draco’s eyes flashed at him, provocative and wanting, a smirk starting to form on his face, but it wasn’t like any of his smirks from before. This was just for Harry. Private. Draco was breathless, too close still, his hair disheveled from Harry’s hands on it, his lips parted from Harry’s kiss, like they were just waiting for more, cheeks unusually flushed. Harry lost track of what he was even thinking. Draco was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. His eyes were the color of melted silver, despair and arousal clearly written on them. Like a stretch of sky before a raging storm. _A hurricane._

What he wanted to say suddenly came into his mind. _Draco… I’m so completely in love with you._ Draco’s eyes burned. He _knew._ He smiled, a flash of lightning in a grey sky, and then he held Harry’s hand in his. He then did something so totally unexpected that even in his wildest dreams Harry couldn’t have fathomed it.

He turned and walked them closer to the graves, stopping at the sight of the lilies over them. There was a light squeeze on Harry’s hand.

‘I just… I want you to know I’m going to try my best not to hurt him again,’ Draco’s voice was so soft, like that day so many years ago, in Hogwarts, by the lake. But now it wasn’t sad, as it had been back then. Harry could not breathe, something warm threatening to overwhelm him.

‘I think you can agree he’s had enough suffering to last a lifetime. Your sacrifice was not in vain, this world wouldn’t be the same without him, and my world… my world wouldn’t even-’ he didn’t finish. ‘You must be so proud of him.’

Draco turned to him and Harry felt something burn inside of him, something he’d thought he’d never feel in his life. He was unable to speak. He squeezed Draco’s hand back. And now it was even worse, because they weren't doing anything, they just held each other, committing to memory every bit of the impossible reality, and it was too much, just too much to have Draco in his arms, not moving, not stepping away, not fighting him anymore, but staying, wanting to stay, wanting him, no walls, no more lies...

Harry was not good with words. He had gotten better, but right now words weren’t tangible. There was only one way to go about this. But Draco spoke before he even got the chance to do anything.

‘You’d better Apparate us, Harry,’ he said, his warning voice barely a whisper, his hand on Harry’s jaw. ‘As much as I want you, I’d prefer a private room instead of a graveyard show,’ he laughed. Freely. Strangely happy. It made Harry dizzy.

‘Yours or mine?’ Harry asked, suddenly hesitant.

‘Mine,’ he said, and kissed the corner of Harry’s lips. Slow, sweet, promising everything. And then Draco was smiling into his lips, into his mouth, into his tongue and they were kissing again, slow, slow, burn, burn...

Harry’s hands fell down to Draco’s waist, like they belonged there all along, and he Apparated them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you happy? Please let me know how you feel about this chapter! Needless to say... next chapter is *all* smut and porn for you. Also, you might have noticed the story has now 29 chapters instead of 28 because........ the porn chapter got too big and I decided to make it into two chapters of porn (it was surpassing the 22 pages and I only had half of it, so...) XD so yeah, I got excited, sue me. 
> 
> Anyway, they suffered, they cried, they had angst enough to bury them alive so of course my Hufflepuff heart would want to give them crazy intense happiness and porn. Since I'm still finishing up on that chapter, the next update might take two weeks. I prefer to take the time and give you the best of my writing than rushing it and not have the best of what I could do, and also because I can't write anything without feelings in it and so this porn is filled with intense emotion, intense talk, intense consent, you name it.
> 
> Time for healing and love and giddiness. Thank you so much for staying with the story until now and for all your amazing comments and support. *
> 
> The line "he liked this better than fighting" was taken from the wonderful book by Rainbow Rowell, Carry On. It's not mine, just borrowed it because it made all the sense in the world, but I don't hold copyright for that sentence.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the chapter you've all (hopefully) been waiting for. I hope you love reading it as much as I loved writing it, it was a real challenge for me.
> 
> Content Warning: Please take note of the tags I added, before reading. This chapter contains BDSM undertones. Smut and porn and feelings - all for your enjoyment.

_"This hurricane…"_  
**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds To Mars**

  
Apparating while kissing Harry Potter felt like being mounted on a broom, flying fast towards the ground, wind sweeping all around and your heart thundering on your chest as if it was about to break free. It was like the heady feel of a never ending Wronski Feint; you are reaching the ground, your heart on your throat and you feel exhilarated and so alive, but then it’s not over and it goes on and on. It was like catching the Snitch over and over again, with both hands, always seemingly impossible up until the second you feel its tiny wings fighting between your fingers. And it was _better_ than all of that put together, Draco thought wildly.

They tumbled through his living room, kissing, grabbing each other, Harry’s frantic breath on every inch of skin he could reach, his hands pressed on his back so warm, then going down to his arse. Fuck, he loved the feeling of Harry’s hands there, pushing them close, driving their cocks painfully together. He got rid of Harry’s coat, not caring where it landed, and his hands were under Harry’s shirt, climbing upwards, feeling over his muscles, his skin so warm, Draco wanting to feel it under him so badly. Harry’s fingers clasped tightly on his green sweater.

‘Fuck, you look even better in this than I thought,’ Harry said, but it turned into a moan as Draco kissed him again, his tongue fucking into Harry’s mouth, his fingers pressing on Harry’s skin. He was addicted to Harry’s taste, he couldn’t even define it. Harry just tasted like everything he wanted.

‘I wore it for you,’ Draco said, pulling Harry’s lip between his teeth again, biting into it harshly. Harry gasped, his hands shot for Draco’s hair, drawing him closer, fingers clasping to the point of pain. Harry was clearly a sucker for playing rough and Draco didn’t think he could get any harder but then his cock begged to disagree. He sunk his teeth on Harry’s lip and was driven mad by the sound coming out of Harry’s mouth: a deep, needy moan.

_More. Draco, please…_

_Oh fuck._

Harry’s fingers clutched at his sweater, desperate, his lip still trapped between Draco’s teeth, his moans going straight to Draco’s cock.

‘You might want to take it off me, now,’ Draco said, slowly releasing his lip and licking over it just to feel the shiver that went through Harry’s body.

His voice sounded more commanding than he had intended, but Harry looked up at him, eyes dark and begging. Draco held his gaze there, feeling a rush of power and want dazzle his mind. He couldn’t quite believe he had Harry Potter looking at him like that.

On a sudden instinct, Draco stepped back and leaned against the side of the couch, his legs falling open. Harry’s eyes shot immediately down, as if pulled irresistibly to that point between his thighs. Draco watched his chest rise and fall rapidly. He tilted his head to the side, feeling the smirk form on his lips.

‘Come here,’ he said and Harry walked over.

‘Take it off me, then.’

Harry’s breath got caught on his throat but he reached for the hem of the sweater, then pushed it slowly upwards, fingers skimming over Draco’s shirt under it. The contact felt like being shocked to life and Draco thought of how crazy this was. They weren’t even naked yet.

‘You drive me mad when you talk like that…’ Harry whispered against his throat, as he let the sweater fall down on the couch. His lips brushed against Draco’s neck leaving goosebumps in their wake.

‘Do I?’ he asked, knowing fully well that his voice sounded posh and teasing and that Harry loved it.

As predicted, Harry drew in a deep breath, his eyes wide on his face, but he still seemed to know how to push Draco to the edge. His knee came up between Draco’s legs, brushing intently against Draco’s cock.

‘Yeah… I think I like it when you order me around,’ Harry said quietly, eyes almost shy as he fidgeted with the top buttons on Draco’s shirt.

Draco’s hips ground forward of their own accord and he felt even more trapped inside his trousers. He thought he could come in his pants right then and not even care. Instead he coaxed Harry’s mouth open under his, sucking on his tongue, his cock dragging painfully against Harry’s thigh.

‘Fuck, Harry…’ he whispered. ‘I can work with that.’

Harry let out a low groan and his lips brushed against Draco’s jaw, warm, his hands crawling up Draco’s thighs.

‘Good,’ the shy smile on Harry’s face was everything. He laughed nervously as Draco dropped his hands around his waist. ‘I think I’m too overwhelmed right now to deal with what this means,’ he said. ‘But I want to try it, slowly, afterwards… If you want to.’

Draco laughed, his heart bursting with warmth. Harry’s honesty was both endearing and such a turn on.

‘I’m too overwhelmed to boss you around right now,’ he said, feeling heady. His voice sounded so light and free. He laughed again and his hands dropped further down, cupping Harry’s arse through his jeans.

‘I’m hard as fuck, I can’t even think… I want to do it properly, safely.’

Harry nodded, eyes bright.

‘I know you will,’ he said with one of his smiles that went through Draco. It was enough.

Draco crashed his mouth over Harry’s, biting his way inside it, and Harry fought him back this time, his hands pressed over Draco’s thighs, hard, strong, his mouth fierce and desperate. Soon, Harry’s teeth were biting sweetly on his tongue, sucking it inside his own mouth and Draco’s breath was out of control. He’d never been kissed like that, like this was already fucking. And it was. He couldn’t quite believe he was about to have Harry on his living room, or on his bed. Finally.

‘At this rate we’re not even going to make it to the bed,’ he heard Harry’s voice, low, echoing breathless inside his mouth.

Harry’s lips were now kissing along his jaw, down his neck, his tongue warm, sucking at his skin, and Draco knew there would be marks there the next day. It made him dizzy and he tilted his head to the side to allow Harry more room to mark him. He felt the teeth sink into his skin, and a gentle groan was coming out of his mouth. In another life he would have been ashamed of himself, but now he couldn’t care. Harry was marking him and smiling against his bitten skin.

‘I know you have one room. Or two. I seem to remember you offering up your guest room for me... Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to say no that night?’

‘Maybe it was as hard as this,’ Draco’s right hand drifted from Harry’s arse to reach down between their bodies and, on a sudden impulse, he cupped Harry through his jeans. _Fuck_. Harry bucked against his hand. His cock was hard and trapped inside those tight jeans, and Draco felt him up shamelessly, like he’d always dreamed of doing - while sober. It was, if possible, even better than all the other times put together. His palm pressed against Harry’s cock and Harry gasped under it, leaning against him, his breath coming out fast against his skin.

‘Draco….’ it was more of a moan than a name. ‘I would have spent the whole night awake if I’d said yes. Every room in here smells like you.’

Draco started walking them through the living room, on the way to his bedroom. It was hard to do that when they couldn’t keep their hands or mouths off each other and he could barely see where he was going. He didn’t fucking care, the only thing he cared about was having Harry on him.

‘I did. Spend that whole night awake,’ Draco muttered into Harry’s mouth

‘Me too… Not just that night… Fuck, Draco…’

Draco felt his back hit a wall, Harry pinning him down. He grabbed Draco’s wrists and pulled them up, over his head, hard against the wall, and his lips traced a path down his neck. Draco arched off the wall, his hips grinding forwards, unbidden. He loved how they didn’t seem to have any rules, nor any idea of who was supposed to be on top. Whomever got there first, he supposed. It didn’t matter. He wanted to do everything with Harry.

Draco let his head fall back. He marvelled at the sight of Harry’s wide glazing eyes, of his parted lips, wanting, his bated breath against his open mouth. He reeled in his own desire to be able to talk. To tease.

‘Enough talking, Potter. Are you going to fuck me or not? I’ve done seven years of waiting, if you don’t take me now I’ll-’

‘Shut it, Malfoy.’

He gasped as Harry bit down on his lower lip. Whatever he was going to say or do vanished from his mind completely as if he’d been Obliviated. Harry’s mouth covered his and then he released his arms and fell down to his knees in one swift motion. That was a sight Draco had thought he’d never see again.

‘May I?’ Harry asked, eyes greener than anything, trained on the bulge on Draco’s trousers. His hand was hovering over Draco’s fly, but still not touching. The mere closeness of those fingers was making Draco incoherent. He couldn’t even think. Harry Potter was a sight on his knees with want spread out clearly across his face and mouth.

‘Fuck,’ Draco breathed out.

Harry had a teasing smile on his face. His fingers moved closer to his fly, quite on purpose Draco was sure, and it took all of his goddamned will to keep from bucking against them. He was desperate for Harry to touch him.

‘Is that a yes?’ Harry leant just slightly closer, the teasing smile now downright filthy, his mouth drawing nearer the bulge on Draco’s trousers. ‘You know I’m all for consent.’

‘Fuck you Potter, do you want my written permission? If you don't put my cock in your mouth right now, I’m-’

Whatever he was going to say turned into a shameless moan. Harry’s lips brushed against the fabric of his trousers, his nose gently dragging against his shaft, his eyes fluttering closed. It was sweet, and teasing and such a fucking turn on, that Draco had to close his eyes, his cock throbbing, pushing against his pants. His hips snapped forward and his cock brushed hard against Harry’s open mouth. It was too good, even with clothes on.

‘I think that counts as enthusiastic consent, or so Ginny says,’ Harry said in a low voice, against Draco’s cock. His lips dragged slowly over the tip and Draco hissed, his back arching off the wall again.  

‘Are you seriously talking about Ginny right now?’ he gritted, trying to breathe. ‘With your fucking gorgeous mouth around my cock?’

He watched as Harry lifted his eyes. Oh fuck, Harry Potter was trouble - on the streets, in the sheets, in and out of bed, or on the floor for that matter. His smile was a fucking crime. Draco bit down on his own tongue in frustration.

‘Shh…’ Harry nuzzled his head against his cock again. Draco bucked against him and Harry laughed, mouth open, the vibrations almost sending Draco into a frenzy.

‘Potter, you do have the worst timing eve-’

Harry’s fingers skimmed over the fabric, so light, causing Draco to lose his train of thought. He swore under his breath. The slight friction was torture. Harry opened his fly, carefully, too slowly for Draco’s liking. Fuck, he was way too sensitive to Harry’s touch and this was with clothes still in between them.

Harry pushed down his trousers, careful to not take Draco’s pants. Draco bit back a moan of protest. The tip of Harry’s nose was brushing against Draco’s cock. There was already a wet spot smearing the fabric of his pants. Harry noticed it too and he brushed his jaw against it, the stubble scratching gently over the fabric. _Oh. Fuck me._

Draco watched as Harry breathed in deeply, closing his eyes, savoring the scent, _his_ scent, there, lips parted, tongue coming out to lick at the wet spot.

_Shit._

‘Stand back and relax, Draco…’ Harry said, a slight quiver in his voice. He smiled, his downright _shag-me_ smile that made Draco want to fuck him right there. But he didn’t dare  move now. He was about to fucking come in his pants.

‘I seem to remember you enjoying this way too much,’ Harry added, almost casually.

‘Oh,’ was the only thing Draco was able to contribute to their discussion, right before Harry mouthed his cock through his pants. He wished he was able to hold back a scream but he couldn’t.

Harry pressed his hands against his thighs to keep him in place and Draco closed his eyes at the onslaught on his whole body. He opened them again to watch Harry lick over the fabric of his pants, his fingers brushing lightly along the length of Draco’s cock, then going down over his bollocks, cupping them in his hands. Draco heard his own moans echoing in the room and his hands fisted Harry’s hair, pulling him closer. It was excruciating to feel that tongue moistening the fabric of his pants, as Harry kept mouthing it, suddenly sucking at the tip. Draco’s hips snapped, his body was trembling and he didn’t care, he was fucking into Harry’s mouth, through the fabric, and it was all kinds of hot and filthy and he’d never done anything like it. Harry’s eyes weren’t leaving him, looking up, all innocence and downright teasing and, fuck, no one should look like that.

_Do you like this, Draco? Me, on my knees for you?_

_Oh god._ _Yes_ , he was screaming in and outside of his own mind, as Harry suddenly pulled his pants down with a yank, his cock jutting out, leaking, and then he lost his breath as Harry simply took his whole length in his mouth.

Draco’s hands gripped harder on Harry’s hair and he pushed in, harshly, fast, his whole body trembling, his knees wobbling. Everything was warm and slick and too good. His cock hit the back of Harry’s throat and he cried out.

 _Did I hurt you?_ He thought in sudden panic. Belatedly, he tried to ease the movement, his hands on Harry’s face, but he realised he shouldn’t be worried.

Harry’s eyes were on fire, mouth stretched around his cock. _Don’t hold back. Fuck me._ His hands were gripping Draco’s arse now, keeping him in place between the wall and his throat, and he bobbed his head once, twice, slow and maddening and Draco couldn’t keep still anymore. His hips snapped forward, then pulled back and he could not stop.

_Fuck, you taste so good, Draco. I fucking wanked myself raw tasting you in my mouth for so long._

Draco could not even breathe. Harry’s voice was inside his mind, his mouth taking him deep and he wanted to explode.  

_I love doing this… I love your cock._

_Oh fuck._ Draco was only now fully realising another side of their mental connection and the doors it opened for their sex life. What could be the problem of a very full and busy mouth if he could have that and be driven crazy by Harry’s voice on his mind, edging him on?

Harry’s mouth left his cock with a loud pop, and his look was all provocation.

‘Are you seriously admitting that you only thought of this now?’ Harry said, his voice coming out hoarse and slightly amused. He pulled back and brushed his wet lips with the back of his hand, looking up.

Draco thought of a comeback for this, but then Harry gripped his cock in his right hand and Draco forgot all about it, as he pushed forward, mesmerized by the sight of those fingers around his leaking cock. Harry laughed and leaned over to lick at the tip, tasting his pre-come.

_Fucking tease._

_You? A Slytherin and a Malfoy missing out on an advantage like this?_

Harry licked along his shaft, as his hand moved slowly over Draco’s length and Draco had to close his eyes shut.

_See what you’ve been missing out?_

‘Fucking-’ but Draco could not finish, because Harry’s tongue lapped over his cock, then his mouth was around it again, going down. Then slowly up, and Draco’s hips moved to follow it. When Harry’s lips touched the tip of his cock, Harry looked up again.

He wanted Draco to see him like this. And Draco was realising he loved the heady sense of power it gave him to watch Harry down on his knees, looking up at him. Even when he was the one being teased to the point of despair. He’d never been this hard for anyone.

‘What Draco? Never seen you so…’ Harry licked teasingly at the tip, his mouth surrounding it in slick warmth for a second. Draco let out a deep groan.

‘... incoherent,’ Harry finished and blinked up almost innocently.

Draco caressed Harry’s jaw and lips, feeling them wet against his hands. He increased the pressure on Harry’s chin suddenly, forcing it up. The green eyes ignited.

With his other hand, Draco gripped the base of his cock and teased Harry’s lips open with the tip. They parted willingly and he felt a shudder spreading from Harry’s body to his prick.

‘Never seen you so interested in talking,’ Draco whispered, his cock sliding along Harry’s tongue and open mouth.

_You inspire me._

Harry moaned and tilted his head back so Draco could go deeper.

Draco’s hands gripped Harry’s hair, hips snapping forward and his cock sliding down inside Harry’s mouth. Harry’s lips finally, _finally_ , closed around Draco’s cock and Draco grunted and slid slowly in, then back out, in a painful slow motion. The change in angle was almost making him black out, because now his cock was almost all the way in, down Harry’s more than willing throat and if he wasn’t careful he could hurt him.

_Harder, Draco. I want  it._

Harry’s hands grabbed at his arse, forcing Draco’s cock down his throat so fast, Draco lost it. His hips snapped violently and he fisted a handful of Harry’s hair, holding him in place and then fucking deep into him, sharp deep thrusts in and out of that mouth.

_Such a pretty cocksucker. I love you on your knees for me._

Harry shuddered at this, his eyes shooting upwards as he allowed himself to be fucked deeper. _I’m your cocksucker, Draco._ That was what he was saying, with every sound he made, with his mouth, and eyes and everything.

Draco’s cock was in a wonderful place, slick, warm and tight and he couldn’t quite believe Harry wanted to be this place, he so wanted it that he was moaning desperately around his cock, his eyes watering, not leaving Draco’s, his mouth stretched around Draco’s cock to accommodate it, his hands pressed hard on Draco’s arse, like he never wanted him to leave his mouth.

_Fuck me, Draco._

And now he was begging and Draco was more than happy to oblige. He did. He was out of his mind, riding a high - Harry - and he forgot he usually didn’t make any sounds while fucking or being fucked, he forgot to hold back his own moans, he forgot everything he was supposed to do, because none of these things mattered anymore. He’d missed this too damn much, Harry’s mouth on him, taking him full, and he simply let go, not caring what he was supposed to do.

His hands were on Harry’s face, on his neck, pushing him closer, and Harry was taking him in, all of him, like this was enough, this was everything, and Draco was leaking inside his mouth still, he was on the verge of coming and he could feel it boiling inside him, a steady growing, unavoidable need. He was going to come so hard he wouldn’t be able to stand on his own afterwards. Harry’s hands pressed over his thighs, reassuringly - _I got you. Let go._ Draco cried out and grabbed the base of his cock, pulling Harry harshly back by his hair. His cock was out of Harry’s mouth with a squelchy pop and Harry let out a needy groan.

They were both breathing hard, Harry’s mouth was open and wanting and dripping down pre-come and saliva but he stood still, avid eyes on Draco’s cock.

Draco stroked his cock slowly, his left hand getting slick and moving easily over his shaft, his right hand gripping Harry’s hair, keeping him in place.

‘Does this inspire you?’ he asked, his voice husky, but blunt with teasing.

‘Yes. Fuck,’ Harry said, breathless.

‘I intend to,’ Draco said, with a slight smirk.

_Oh god. Please Draco._

Harry was fighting to keep still, his mouth still open, too close to Draco’s cock, as Draco kept wanking himself slowly, Harry’s eyes moving up and down with his hand. He was desperate for Draco’s cock and everything on his face said it quite clearly.

‘Please.’

Draco stilled his hand over his cock. One more touch and he would come all over Harry’s face. This sudden image on his mind was so real he had to grip the base of his cock and breathe deeply to keep from doing just that. But Harry had seen it too. And he looked up, his face a complete wreck. He wanted it.

‘ _Please_ , Draco.’

His mouth covered the tip of Draco’s cock, licking slowly, pleadingly, and Draco could not resist the urge of going all the way in. He did, his scream echoing off the walls and he popped out of Harry’s mouth just as fast, his legs trembling.

‘You want me to come on your face?’

_Yes. Yes._

Harry nodded back, his face flushed, his breath ragged, his lips still parted, waiting, wanting… Draco was drowned in a flash of images. He was holding Harry’s head harshly in place, hands fisting his dark hair, completely in control, as he dragged his cock inside that willing mouth, adjusting the angle as he wanted it, fucking slowly, his shaft dragging over Harry’s tongue, slow, then fast, then slow again, while Harry took it, no say in it, eyes on the verge of tears. The images were not his, they were Harry’s. Harry wanted to have no say in it. He wanted this, Draco in control. His raw vulnerability would be Draco’s undoing.

Draco breathed in deeply and looked down. His hand cupped Harry’s jaw, caressed his lips and Harry moaned, coming closer, his face nuzzling against Draco’s hard cock, the strands of his hair almost tickling it, and Draco wanted to laugh, and kiss him and come on his face - all at the same time. He wasn’t sure how he was still standing up, his whole body was under an onslaught of emotion and want so acute he thought he could come now without even so much as a touch.

_Make me yours, Draco… come on me._

Draco moved to take Harry’s glasses, placing them carefully on his back pocket. Harry blinked up at him, seemingly lost between the surprise of Draco’s thoughtful gesture and the overwhelming need etched on his face.

Harry opened his mouth, Draco’s cock sliding in. Just the tip. Harry stood like that, not closing his lips over it and it was just perfect, impossibly good. Draco pushed in, his fingers wrapped over his cock and Harry’s tongue warm under it, on his cock and on his fingers at the same time.

_You sure you want this?_

His only answer was a spitting image of his cock choking Harry in a brutal thrust.

He grunted and gripped Harry’s hair fast and hard and his hips thrust brutally forwards. Harry gave a choked up cry and gagged suddenly in his cock, as it hit the back of his throat and, just like that, Draco was coming violently into Harry’s open mouth.

His mind went completely blank. His hips snapped forward hard and stayed there, his spunk covering Harry’s tongue and he screamed as he watched white strands shooting over Harry’s tongue and lips, then dripping down his neck. Harry moaned and tried desperately to breathe as he took what he could of Draco’s come, his tongue licking all the spunk dripping from his lips, then gently moving over Draco’s cock to remove every last trace of it.

Draco sagged back, trembling, Harry’s hands stilling him against the wall. He felt Harry resting his head on his hip, both breathing hard. He was coming slowly off his high, and Merlin, he had been high. Fucking high. Harry could put him up there so easily. He was quietly realising this was something really big and intense between them, something that maybe they could explore. He couldn’t believe it. His hand dropped to Harry’s hair, caressing it, gently, protectively. He couldn’t think, nor say anything for some time.

‘Is this really happening?’ he asked, finally.

A few hours ago he had been convinced he would never see Harry again, that he’d live all his life without him. Now they were here, he’d just come in Harry’s mouth and none of them were leaving.

Harry looked up at him. His hair was more disheveled than ever, his eyes bright and green and his mouth wet. _I was just in there_ , Draco thought, feeling slightly crazy.

‘Yes,’ came the answer, in a whisper.  

Draco pushed him up, the feel of Harry on him still too good to be true and they were kissing again. Harry tasted of him, and he was still hard, his bulge pressed against Draco’s spent cock.

‘Are you okay? Was this okay?’ Draco asked.

It felt like he was holding the most precious thing in the world. Harry’s trust in him. And he was. He held his breath, as he watched the quiet smile on Harry’s face.

‘Yes. More than.’

Relief washed over him. Up this close Harry was even more beautiful. Draco wanted to tell him so, and how much he’d loved this, his mouth - his everything - but he couldn’t so he just said: ‘So… there’s this bed I want you to meet.’

It was enough. Harry laughed. His hands were on either side of Draco’s face, brushing gently, teeth nibbling his jaw and Draco just let him. Fuck, Harry’s gentleness would fucking kill him - that is, if his amazing performances at giving head didn’t do that first.

He pushed his pants and trousers up, almost unwillingly, and took Harry’s glasses from his back pocket, placing them carefully over the rim of Harry’s nose. It was such a casual touch, but it made his breath catch, his hand stopping over Harry’s cheek.

Harry adjusted the glasses and then he gave Draco a small smile. Draco could not believe the surreality of this, of being the person to place the glasses on Harry’s face, after having fucked him. Of watching as Harry adjusted them, of being on the other end of those gentle eyes.

Harry placed his hand on Draco’s. Warm, casual, just _right_. And now he could hold it for as long as he wanted. Only Harry to turn him into a fucking sap, thinking these things.

‘Lead the way, Draco.’

He did. He was walking them to his bedroom, like he’d dreamed of doing too many times to be accounted for. It felt surreal to be doing this, to be this close to Harry, to have his own taste in his mouth and Harry’s warm hand on his, to have Harry debauched and breathless and going into his bedroom for the first time.

Harry stopped at the doorway, looking half-shy again. Draco realised he was taking in his room, his things, every detail, with those attentive eyes of his. It was strangely endearing. He pulled Harry’s hand and walked them inside.

‘Do you like it?’

Harry nodded.

‘It’s you,’ he said simply.

Draco had never thought of it like that. The room was quite simple, all straight lines and lean surfaces. Minimalist, like the rest of his flat, with a large, comfortable bed in the center.

‘So… this is where you sleep,’ Harry walked over to his bed and sat there.

Draco’s heart stuttered and tightened strangely, not even caring for the cheesy line. Harry was charmingly cheesy and it suited him. And seeing him sitting so casually on his bed was completely unreal.

‘Or rather, where I don’t sleep,’ Draco said, with a broken smile and a laugh. ‘Nightmares, as you guessed quite right.’

Harry nodded back in understanding, eyes fixed on Draco’s, his half-smile showing up again on his face. Harry’s hands dragged over his own thighs, then went to his fly. Draco stopped breathing. He closed the door without taking his eyes off Harry, who opened his trousers, as slowly as it was humanly possible.

‘I think you’ll be able to sleep tonight...’ Harry said, his voice hoarse.

Draco wanted to curse in every language he knew, but nothing came out.  
  
‘Take that off. Now,’ he snapped, walking over to the bed.

He watched as Harry trembled slightly at his tone and leant back on the bed, his hand over the pressing bulge on his pants. He dragged his fingers over it, his mouth opening slightly and Draco could not look away. He wanted to watch.

‘Why don’t you have a sit, Draco?’ Harry asked, his mildly innocent tone making Draco’s breath uneven.

‘You’re such a fucking tease,’ he said, but pushed up a chair and sat.

‘And you fucking love it,’ Harry said. His voice was raw and a slight red tinge was starting to cover his face.

Draco did not bother to deny any of it. He eased open another button on his shirt, Harry’s eyes eager on the gesture, and then crossed his legs, waiting. His fingers drummed lightly over the chair’s arm. He smirked.

That seemed to do something to Harry. He flushed and pushed his trousers down, lifting his hips slightly off the bed, then leant forwards and removed his trainers, pulled off his socks and took off his trousers, leaving only his pants. He let his thighs fall open, then looked up at Draco.

Harry had fucking finely shaped legs. Something Draco already knew because he had fucking eyes and because he’d had them under his hands so many times. But now they were completely naked and Draco wanted to drag his hands over them, to feel the muscles under his fingertips, to run his nails over the skin and the dark hairs, searching for the most sensitive spots. Harry smiled at him, his hands brushing over his thighs and Draco leant more comfortably into the chair, trying to breathe and look in control of himself. Which he wasn’t and Harry knew it.

Harry gave a short laugh, shy, and walked over to the top of the bed, giving Draco a front row view of his arse covered in the tight black pants he was wearing. And what a view that was. Draco already knew, but seeing it was something else. He could not stop looking. The things he wanted to do to that arse...

Harry flashed him a smile that took his breath away. Then he sat on the bed, back against the headboard, his legs stretched in front of him, thighs falling open, the fabric of his pants tight over his bulge. Draco let out the long, deep breath he was holding. Harry was so beautiful, it fucking hurt.

‘Take it all off,’ he ordered.

Harry’s eyes were bright on him, a teasing smile on his lips, his face beautifully flushed.

‘I thought you weren’t in the mood to give orders,’ Harry said softly, but Draco could feel his voice faltering, his breath starting to get uneven.

Harry’s fingers brushed over the hem of his black shirt, lifting it slightly. Just the tiny stretch of skin Draco could see was enough to make his mouth water.

‘You took the edge off. I have all the time in the world now,’ Draco said, although it wasn’t exactly the truth since his prick was getting half-hard again.

He enjoyed the way Harry’s eyes averted his, looking down shyly.

‘I want you starkers on my bed,’ Draco added.

Harry almost moaned at this. Draco saw him stifle the sound, biting the inside of his mouth. Fucking Merlin, he wanted to make Harry lose that control.

Harry’s hand started to tug his shirt up, so very slowly that Draco had to concentrate on breathing, for fear of running out of oxygen without even noticing it. How could reality surpass his fantasies?

‘Thought about this a lot, have you?’ Harry asked, shirt halfway up, his hard stomach visible, a slight path of hair trailing from his navel and disappearing under his pants. Draco wanted to drag his mouth over that stretch of skin so badly he gripped the arms of the chair and swallowed.

‘You have no idea,’ he said, leaning forwards. His mind jumped to an image of a naked Harry being fucked open by his fingers against the same headboard where the real Harry was now.

Harry couldn’t suppress a loud, needy, moan this time. He closed his eyes and bit his lip and Draco thought of his fingers going deep inside him, spreading him open, leaving him slick and ready. Harry jerked against the headboard and his right hand gripped the sheets. He was still half-dressed, they weren’t even touching and Draco could not believe the effect he had on Harry just like this.

_Fuck._

‘Draco… I want…’ Harry said. The desperation in his voice was making Draco’s cock twitch inside his trousers.

 _Please, Draco._ Harry was flushed and his cock was straining against his pants. His hands moved there almost unconsciously, eyes still trained on Draco’s, his fingers pressing over the bulge, mouth falling open in a shudder. _Touch me..._

‘Get your hands off your cock and get that fucking shirt off, Potter,’ Draco said, his voice demanding, as his fingers dragged absentmindedly over his own half-hard cock.

Harry sucked in a breath, eyes wide and dark as he immediately obeyed. He pulled on the hem of his shirt and took it off, letting it fall silently to the floor. His chest was rising and dropping fast, lines from old scars crisscrossing it, bright. Draco wanted to trace them all with his mouth and tongue.

Harry was almost completely naked on his bed and Draco could feel his own cock swelling. He shifted on the chair, uncrossing his legs and letting his thighs fall open. His hand rested against his thigh, and Harry was very aware of this because his eyes dropped to that spot almost immediately, his mouth open. Draco dragged his hand up, opened his fly and Harry gasped.

‘Draco… come touch me, please.’

That needy tone was making him lose it. Draco wanted nothing else, still he forced himself to sit on the chair, his hands now lazily brushing over his own cock.

‘No,’ he said, a slight smirk on his face.

Harry could not stop looking at his hand and at the hard line of Draco’s cock. Draco moved his fingers over his shaft, gripped, then eased the touch and Harry stifled another sound.

‘Please… don’t you want me?’ Harry asked in a thin voice.

He watched as Harry bit his lip again and as his hands drifted across his stomach and up to his nipples. Harry was teasing Draco and he fucking loved it. This time he could not suppress a slight groan.

Harry paused, his half-shy, half-shag-me smile forming on his lips, and pinched one nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Draco watched the dark nipple go hard between Harry’s fingers, Harry’s huffs of uneven breath filling the room. Harry closed his eyes, his whole body tensing, his cock straining hard against his pants.

‘I thought I told you to get naked, Harry,’ Draco said, his voice coming out hard and breathy. Harry almost whimpered at the sound of it. His eyes shot open and his hands went down, trembling and he pushed slightly on the hem of his pants.

‘So impatient…’ he murmured, his cheeks bright.

The tip of his finger skimmed over his cock and then he lifted his hips up and pushed the pants down, releasing his fully erect cock and his tight bullocks. It was fucking beautiful. Draco wanted to have it all on his mouth so badly he almost went for it, leaving the play for another time. But on the other hand, this was the first time Draco could look at Harry properly, no rush, and he decided to take his sweet time doing it.

‘Spread your legs,’ he commanded and Harry did. Draco noticed that Harry was no longer going near his own prick, even though he was so hard it must be painful. He was waiting for Draco. For his orders, his touch.

‘Tell me what to do, Draco…’ Harry whispered. ‘I want to please you.’

It was almost too much. Harry seemed to know exactly what to say to set Draco’s body and mind on fucking fire.

‘I want to see you open yourself for me,’ he said, his voice and throat dry. ‘Taking your fingers up your arse. Can you do that for me?’

Harry nodded, almost frantic, his mind saying _yes, yes, yes_.

‘Accio lube,’ Draco said, and with a twist of his fingers the lube came zooming out of one of his drawers.

‘Show-off…’ Harry said, teasing, his green eyes on Draco. ‘Bet you do that with all the boys you bring here,’ he did not sound jealous, just slightly insecure and there was a hint of arousal in his voice as he said it.

‘You know that’s not true,’ Draco said, slowly, turning the bottle in his hand.

He did not remember the last time he’d had a man in his room. Some drunken slip, years and years ago. It had happened only because he was drunk, he wasn’t in the habit of inviting his fucks to his apartment. Quite the contrary. Harry was the first in years, on his bed. But more importantly, Harry was the first he wanted to stay for the next day. _Every day._ The first he wanted to fuck while completely sober. The first to take his whole breath away. The first he was in love with.

He looked over to Harry and silently tried to tell him this. He felt he’d emptied himself of words on his confession before. He’d never been so honest in his life and now words were beyond him. But Harry needed to know this. He wasn’t playing around this time.

‘I know…’ Harry said, and his smile was everything. Draco felt the tight knot in his chest easing.

Harry looked at the lube.

‘Are you going to give me that or…?’

_Teaser._

He threw the bottle over to Harry who caught it safely in his hand. Seeker’s reflex, there was nothing this man did, that didn’t get Draco hard. And he was damned hard again, even after one of the best blow-jobs of his life. He was like this just from watching Harry getting undressed on his bed. He relaxed against the chair.

‘Go on, then. I’m waiting.’

Harry’s cock twitched at his words. Draco loved the effect of his pushy, impatient tone on Harry.

Harry’s fingers neared his hole, the bottle of lube still in his hand, a look of mild concentration on his face. He muttered cleaning and protection spells in quick succession. His silent power and the intimacy of the gesture, the fact that he was preparing himself for Draco, hit him like a train.

‘Now who’s the show-off?’ he whispered, voice coming out in a rasp.

Harry gave him a half-smile. Draco didn’t think he’d ever get used to that smile, directed at him.

‘You haven’t seen anything yet,’ Harry said, and now his smile had nothing of innocence. It was downright provocation.

‘Enjoy the show, Malfoy.’

Draco gripped his own cock almost unconsciously, biting back a moan and a curse, and watched as Harry finally uncorked the bottle and spread some lube over his fingertips. Then he closed it and reclined on the pillows behind him, shifting his hips lower on the bed, and pushing his knees up slightly, to gain better access. The view was so perfect Draco cursed again under his breath.  

‘Don’t you dare touch that cock, it’s mine,’ Draco added, amazed at his own tone. It was hard and powerful.

Harry nodded fast, his face flushed, his fingers nearing his hole, trembling slightly. Draco watched as Harry willed his body to relax, spreading his legs, his back easing into the pillows. His fingertip touched the rim of his hole and he moved it in circles, getting it slick with lube. Harry closed his eyes, feeling himself up and finding the entrance, his fast breathing filling the room. He slowly slid the tip of his index finger inside, his mouth falling open, a ragged sigh leaving him. Draco watched the finger disappear and his world tunneled, narrowed and expanded to only that, the way Harry was opening himself up to him, spread on his bed.

Harry’s finger disappeared inside his hole, up to his knuckle. He breathed out, forcing his body to relax around it, and Draco revelled in it. Harry knew what he was doing, he knew his own body and he was sharing that with Draco. He moved his finger inside, then stopped again, hitching his hips down slowly, breathing deep. The rest of his finger disappeared inside him.

Harry opened his eyes, the green in them now dark, pupils blown wide. His neck was taut with tension, his cock bobbing hard, unattended and leaking pre-come. Draco wanted to lick it so badly, but he was saving it for the perfect moment. He wanted Harry desperate with need first.

‘So fucking beautiful,’ he whispered and he almost didn’t recognise his own voice.

Harry moaned and started to move his finger inside him, his hips coming off the bed just slightly. His wrist twisted just a bit and Draco held his breath. Draco’s hand travelled over his cock, Harry’s eyes following it.

Draco smiled. It was time to make Harry really go crazy.

‘I’m going to fuck you so good, Harry…’ he said, and then he let his mind roam free of any chains, his hand going inside his pants. His fingers breached Harry inside his mind, as he took his cock out. Harry arched off the bed, higher this time, his finger going deeper inside him, his mouth falling open.

‘Draco. Oh god, fuck me.’

He did. He curled his fingers around his cock, as they curled also inside Harry, sliding inside him, deep, warm. Harry let out a low, desperate, groan, then he added another finger, his body twisting on the bed, his hair splayed on the pillows, dark and messy, his chest rising and falling, shining bright with sweat.

‘You feel so good…’ Draco whispered, his hand going down slowly over his cock, and he could feel Harry’s warmth, pulling him in deep.

Draco twisted his fingers and Harry panted hard, a startled growl leaving him, his own fingers fucking deep into him, and Draco thought of his own mouth surrounding Harry’s leaking cock.

Harry screamed, the sweetest sound, his hips snapped upward, once, twice and then he could not stop, his mind enclosed in the tight grip of Draco’s own. Three fingers were now opening Harry up, lifting him off the bed as Draco mouth sucked him deep.

‘Draco, please… suck me, touch me, anything, please,’ Harry was babbling, writhing on the bed, his fingers fucking into his hole. Draco thrust inside him suddenly, curling up his fingers, scissoring them and Harry spasmed intensely, his hole twitching.

Draco had to still his hand over his cock because he was about to come at the sight of Harry completely at his mercy. He tried to ease his own breathing before he spoke.

‘Already begging?’ he drawled, watching as Harry bucked against his own fingers, pressed deep inside him, lips parted. He was thoroughly going crazy with Draco’s voice.

‘But we haven’t even started yet.’

Harry moaned in answer, desperate green eyes on him, pleading.

‘Don’t you want to fuck me? I’m ready for you…’ he pushed his fingers harshly inside and whimpered. ‘So ready for you, Draco… I want your cock, filling me up.’

Draco was amazed at his own self-control. He stood up, cock hard in his hand, and licked over his lips, as he lowered his pants down, together with his trousers, leaving them around his ankles. Harry’s eyes went wider on his face, and he stopped moving his fingers. Draco moved his hand slowly over the head of his cock. He spread the pre-come over it, jerking slightly, trying to keep himself balanced.

‘I want…’

Draco could barely get the words coming out of Harry’s mouth, but he didn’t have to. He was suddenly struck by an image of himself kneeling behind Harry, between his spread legs, his fingernails raking over Harry’s back leaving a trail of red marks, Harry wildly begging for him to not stop.

The image was explicit enough. Draco felt like he could not breathe.

‘Turn around, face on the bed.’

His voice came out like a whip, cracking through the air. Harry felt it too, his eyes  wide and greener than anything. Harry’s fingers slid out of his hole, slowly, dripping wet on the bedsheets and he whimpered as he turned to obey the order. He laid with his stomach on the bed, head on the pillow, and immediately spread his legs invitingly, a sigh leaving his lips.

Draco stood for a moment, even forgetting his own cock, watching the curve of Harry’s back, the traces of scars going down over his skin, the gentle dip on his lower back and then the beautiful curve of his arse.

He watched mutely as Harry reached behind and spread his arse cheeks for him, revealing the red, wet hole, stretched from before, just waiting there to be filled. Draco could feel his heartbeat on his own throat, violently battering him, because Harry was so incredibly vulnerable and beautiful like this and he still could not believe he deserved it.

‘Draco, I want you…’ Harry said, not looking back, his voice muffled by the pillow. He spread his legs wider on the bed. ‘Stop thinking…’

Draco swallowed hard. His throat was completely dry and his cock was leaking.

‘You’re better than all my fantasies combined, Potter…’ his voice was sounding from very far-off. Harry trembled on the bed. Fuck, he had waited so long to call him Harry, but somehow it was amazing to be able to go back and forth between the two names, just to watch what it did to Harry. It felt fucking dominating to call him Potter when he was desperate like this.

‘Look at me,’ he said and Harry turned his head over the pillow, to be able to see him.  

Draco finally removed his shoes and socks, lining them close to the chair, then took off his trousers and pants, Harry’s eyes following his every movement. He could feel the desperate need in Harry, immobilized on the bed, but wanting so much to be touched, that it was driving him nearly mad.

Draco decided to push it just a little bit further and his hand dragged slowly over his shaft. Then he started wanking himself in earnest, swift movements along his length, slow and purposeful. Harry stopped breathing, his mouth open, pupils blown wide. There was something heady about having Harry completely naked before him and keeping himself half-dressed, his buttoned down shirt just slightly open at the neck and then his cock in his hand, fully erect.

A sudden vision went through him: Harry’s arching back, his scream of pain and pleasure as Draco’s nails went down his back, wrecking him, Draco’s prick, hard, dragging between Harry’s spread thighs.

Harry looked nearly out of it from pleasure, from what he was asking for without any words. Draco’s hand rushed over his prick, as Harry started to rub his own hard cock, almost unconsciously, over the bedsheets, whimpers and moans coming breathless out of his mouth.

‘Keep that cock off the fucking bed, Potter.’

Harry froze immediately, and the whine out of his mouth broke Draco’s resolve. He climbed on the bed, his hands spreading Harry’s legs more widely apart. Harry cried out, his body jerking under him.

Draco dragged his hands up along the inside of Harry’s thighs and Harry could not keep from shaking, his whole body going into a frenzy. Draco slid his nails down his thighs, slowly, the warmth filling him up from the tips of his fingers. He leant over Harry, letting his cock graze along the crease of Harry’s arse, and Harry arched off the bed, the muscles on his arms and legs trembling with tension.

‘Quiet,’ he whispered as he neared Harry’s ear, and then he licked a path down his neck, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake.

Harry fought to keep from arching against him, to keep as still as Draco had ordered. Draco finally got lost in the heady sense of having Harry under him, at his mercy. His hands climbed over Harry’s arms and he pushed them up, keeping them there, palms open against the headboard.

‘Stay like this, Harry,’ he said, his voice cracking with gentleness. He was almost on the verge of breaking apart and just devour Harry. But he’d waited seven years. Seven fucking years of pain and helpless pining and now he wanted to savour this.

His hands skimmed over Harry’s arms, then over his shoulder blades, followed by his lips, and open mouth. He didn’t know who was moaning anymore, their sounds mixing up around them, and nothing existed but Harry’s taste on his mouth, his heady scent, his warm skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his groans of pleasure, his mind open to Draco’s, begging, begging, for Draco to drag his nails over his back.

Draco straddled Harry’s arse, his cock nestled there almost naturally, and experimentally dragged his nails down Harry’s spine. The sound coming out of Harry’s mouth was a sin.

‘Draco… oh god, please… hurt me.’

Draco felt dizzy, he could not find his own voice to even say anything, but he needed to be sure that this wasn’t Harry completely sex-drunk, that he really wanted this.

‘You want me to hurt you?’ he asked carefully, his hands stopping over the bright ridge of a long scar. He knew that scar. Holland. Bad hex. Harry had jumped between him and the suspect and had gotten hit.

Harry nodded, face against the pillow.

‘I… Harry, are you sure? I need you to say it.’

Harry lifted his face from the pillow and turned to look at him. His eyes focused on Draco’s face, solemn, aroused and true. Draco felt a pang in his heart.

‘I am sure. I want… your fingernails, over my back… I want you to mark me. Please. I’m consenting, I’m asking for this. I want it.’

His eyes were set, more green than anything. Draco took a deep breath. This was sensitive territory between them. There had been a time when all they wanted was hex each other. They’d come a long way since then, but still it seemed they both liked their pleasure taken with some pain in the mix, that much he knew. They both liked to give and take, brutally and gently. They had probably been going down that road for a long time. But if they were going to do this, he wanted to play as safe as possible.

‘I don’t want to hurt you in a bad way,’ he said, his voice quivering awkwardly. He was afraid, but he was also rock hard. His cock was throbbing over Harry’s arse, his fingers burned against Harry’s skin. He wanted to drag his nails over the whole expanse of his back. He wanted Harry to burn under him.

‘I’ve been dreaming of this,’ Harry whispered. ‘I want this pain, this good pain… and I want it to be you, the one to give it to me. If you want.’

Draco’s fingers brushed lightly over another scar. He also remembered the day that one was made. Harry’s whole body told a story in scars, a story he knew like the palm of his hand. Better even. A story Harry shared with _him_. As if answering his thoughts, Harry shivered. Draco reeled in his own arousal to be able to speak, feeling his magic whirling inside him, so close to the surface.

‘How do you want it?’

‘Your nails… then… _sting_ me. I want your magic on me.’

Magic. Harry wanted magic on him. Draco’s magic. He wanted his stinging jinxes.

‘What?’ he felt stunned. His heart was beating loudly on his chest, magic whirling in his veins, as if it had been called forth.

Harry pressed his head more into the pillow, his voice coming out muffled. He was feeling self-conscious, but still he was asking for this, for what he wanted.

‘It’s sort of a kink. With you. Your magic on me. I want to feel it on me.’

He knew, without seeing, that Harry was blushing against the pillow. Draco’s hand trembled over the scar on Harry’s lower back. Magic was thrumming on his fingers, spreading over him in a current of energy.

‘Fuck, Harry. I’ve never done anything like this before.’

‘Me neither. I understand if you don’t want to.’

‘No, I do want to. I want to try. I… fuck, Harry. Will you tell me to stop if it starts to be too much?’

‘Yes. I promise. Can we try just a little bit, this time? I’ll tell you if it’s too much.’

He couldn’t believe this. _Yes. I want to._ He did not trust himself to be able to speak without his voice failing at this point.  

His fingertips brushed along Harry’s back. He could feel the energy under his fingertips, he just had to call it forward, let it flow, control it over Harry’s skin. He’d never done a stinging jinx wandlessly. He would have to control the strength of the spell with precision, because this was about the right amount of pleasure and pain, and not downright pain.

‘I’m going to try it first on my hand,’ he said. Harry barely nodded.

His fingers thrummed lightly over his left hand. He called the jinx forth. White light burst from his fingers and seared across his skin, opening a cut, deep, on his hand. Too much. Draco breathed out, fighting the pang of pain, healed the cut silently and tried again, easing the spell out. It helped if he thought of water, water running slowly, a current, soft, and whispering. His hand trembled with the effort, but the jinx was softened now, like an electric shock. A cut appeared on his hand, it wasn’t deep, but it was red, and bright, and the pain went through him slowly, lightly, but insistent.

‘Are you ready?’ he asked, voice faltering.

Merlin. He was nervous, he was excited, he felt heady with the rush of the magic and Harry under him, waiting, wanting.

‘Yes,’ Harry said. ‘I trust you.’

The most powerful wizard of his time wanted him like this. Wanted his magic. Draco’s eyes were prickling, he felt heated and filled to the brim with wanton emotion. He leant over Harry and kissed his warm skin in between his shoulder blades. He couldn’t believe they were doing this.

_Lie still._

Draco’s mind was completely open. He could feel Harry’s mind, welcoming, warm, pulsing against him. Everything Harry was feeling was there, within his grasp. He could sense it, read it, feel it. It was almost overwhelming. Harry craved his touch. Something warm welled up on his eyes. He stilled his breath. His nails dug into Harry’s skin.

Harry groaned and Draco could feel him drinking in the pain, his body so ready and eager for it. Draco moved his nails down, fast. Harry arched off the bed, against him, making Draco’s cock slide between his arse cheeks. _Oh god._

‘I want to make you lose it… that control you always have…’ he whispered, breathing over Harry’s heated skin.

Harry moaned helplessly, as Draco’s nails climbed up, leaving a trail of red along the bright scars. His nails dragged down again, scratching hard, fast, Harry hissing against the pillow, taking the pain.

Draco kissed the traces of Harry’s old wounds. It was so strange that he knew each and every one of those scars. He remembered the curses and hexes that had made them. He remembered which of those had been intended for him, but had hit Harry instead. He remembered the long nights on hospitals, the fear and anxiety falling heavy over his shoulders. He traced those now with his tongue, slow, Harry melting under him, his mouth opening over them, tasting them. His nails followed the same path of his mouth, biting into the marred skin, and Harry whimpered and took it all.

_So good, Draco…_

He moved his nails over the trails of red, digging deep, marking Harry over and over in long stripes of pain. Harry’s body was magic, the way he welcomed pain, the way he took it so deeply, letting go of control, letting himself be vulnerable, letting himself go on Draco’s hands. Harry was warm enough now, ready to take more.

Draco stilled his fingers suddenly and, with no other warning, he let the jinx erupt there, searing the skin. Harry screamed, his back arching against Draco and Draco forced him down, mercilessly, pressing his head harshly against the pillow.

_Yes, yes, yes._

Harry’s voice was frantic, wild, inside his mind. There was a nasty red cut on Harry’s skin, and Draco’s fingers went down, energy thrumming. Another jinx followed. He could hear Harry screaming in want inside him. _More_.

Magic exploded on his fingertips, a current of blinding white light, searing over Harry’s skin. Harry screamed and arched back against his hands, his body pulsing with energy, taking in the pain and the magic and the pleasure. Two long trails of bright burning red covered Harry’s back. Draco leaned over, feeling sweat trickling down his back. His cock had softened with the concentration required, but he did not care one bit. The pleasure he was feeling surpassed any physical one. He had never been this aroused in his life. It was like his cock couldn’t even keep up with it.

He felt Harry’s body under him, burning, throbbing, slick with sweat. Their minds were so connected he could read every twist and turn of Harry’s desire, curling, unravelling inside him, reaching for Draco. He muttered a soft healing spell against the cuts and watched as they slowly started to close, Harry sighing softly. He pressed his hand between Harry’s shoulder blades, waited a beat, then magic erupted there, only a thin cut. Harry let out a deep moan that stretched into a scream of pleasure, his body thrumming, heated, arching back.

‘ _Glacius_ ’, Draco whispered, on a sudden inspiration, and the spell cooled down Harry’s skin, a thread of icy vapour trickling over the red burning marks, making Harry jolt and gasp, the onslaught of sensation too big to be expressed.

Hot and cold, Harry’s skin was burning and slick with sweat, red stripes of pain shining against the brightness of the white scars.  The world seemed to have stopped its constant motion for Draco to finally catch up on it. And his world was Harry, his beautiful arching back, the red traces of pain covering it, his spread warm thighs pushing against Draco, magic on his fingers, stinging, cutting, cooling, healing.

Harry was no longer hard, but it didn’t matter, because he was on fire, beyond words, lost for the real world outside. They were in their own world now, a world of scars and healing, a world of love and redemption.

Draco pulled Harry up, against his chest, as slowly as possible, feeling Harry’s warmth sinking into him. Harry gripped hard at the headboard, head thrown back against Draco’s shoulder, his eyes wide, his body taut, his mouth hanging open, begging.

‘Draco, please…’

 _Kiss me, take me, fuck me, suck me._ It didn’t matter anymore. Harry wanted everything from him and he wanted everything from Harry. Draco felt like he was finally falling inside the warmth he had wished for his whole life.

Draco plunged inside Harry’s mouth, a deep low moan drifting past his lips, the stinging still pulsing against Harry’s skin, healing and burning at the same time, and it was too good, too intense. There was a loud ringing in his ears, Harry’s voice in his mind screaming _fuck, fuck, fuck,_ echoing his own.

He forced himself to break the kiss, just to watch Harry pant desperately, his neck taut, his mouth searching Draco’s, thirsty, and he revelled in it, in denying it just a bit longer. Harry’s eyes were dark, his cock was filling up again, he was losing all control, his mind filled with Draco, utterly lost in him, in what he’d do, suspended on his every movement and breath.

Draco snapped his hips forward, deliberately, slow and hard, and Harry bucked back against him, as he felt Draco’s cock swelling against his arse.

Draco was completely filled with Harry, all over and around him, and he felt as if he could just lean in, allow gravity, and then he would plunge inside Harry, inside his mouth, inside his arse, inside his mind, devouring him and forgetting the whole world beyond green eyes and warm skin. It felt impossible not to do that.

Draco waited a beat, stretching his own self-control beyond anything he ever had and then he couldn’t take it anymore.

He crashed his mouth on Harry’s, drinking in his scream and his pain and his want, his tongue diving inside Harry’s mouth, his hand coming down, skimming lightly over Harry’s hip and then, _finally_ , closing, desperate, around Harry’s hard cock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was it? Loved it? Expected more? Not to your liking at all? Anyone melting? Anyone hating my guts for some reason? Did I mention the next chapter is also porn and it's 22 pages long already? Well. They suffered a lot, I had to give them thrice the happiness. Please talk to me! Gods, why is this always such a heart-throbbing experience? I feel like I'm laying my heart bare here. Okay, enough drama. We're almost at the end of Hurricane, next chapter will be posted in two weeks. I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS. *cry* I already miss them.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, earlier than I thought. Enjoy and please let me know what you thought, my heart can't take this!
> 
> Content warning: please notice the tags I added, this chapter contains BDSM undertones.

_"Do you really want?  
_ _(Heartbeat, a heartbeat)"_  
**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds To Mars**

  
Harry was spiraling down, away, falling inside Draco’s touch and mouth and hands. He wasn’t aware of the time stretching by, hours, of the impossible turn of the world that had him losing the love of his life and finding him in the same day. Pain and love were the same now, entwined and impossible to disentangle, as his body was with Draco’s.

He never wanted Draco to stop touching him, not after what they’d just shared. Not ever.

_I love your hands on me. I love the pain you give me._

His thoughts were disconnected, hazy, his body was moving of it’s own accord, pushing back against Draco’s hard line behind him, Draco’s arms around him, holding him up.

His back was throbbing, wonderfully, heated and cooled, exhaustion and magic still flicking over his skin. He had never been touched like this, never been pushed beyond himself in this way and he had a feeling that this was just the beginning between them. It felt like their first time, and it was, but at the same time it felt like the first time for him, with anyone.

No one had been this deep, even though Draco still hadn’t been inside him with his fingers or his cock. Still, he was there, deeper than anyone had gone to.

Harry had thought that there was this last threshold inside him no one could ever reach. This last darkness no one would dare touch, this thirst for pain no one would understand. That there was this part of him that wasn’t pure, that was dangerous and not clean cut, all hard edges and sharp, dark surfaces; that this, right here, was him, his wrecked self, vulnerable, alive beyond a war. Not at all like the image they all had of him, the image of a hero, of a warrior, fearless, impulsive and unbroken. He had thought he’d never show it to anyone, these sharpened edges, this broken places, this part of him that didn’t want to be in control, that wanted pain and surrender. He’d thought no one would get it, no would want to touch that spot - unclean, thwarted. Except, Draco did.

Draco Malfoy, the boy that was once his enemy, in another lifetime, it seemed. A lifetime of darkness, a darkness he thought only he, alone, had really known. Until he found Draco, standing there, in the same darkness, so different, so alike, so far away but always closing in on him. The boy that was pale, scared, defiant. Broken, marred. The boy that always had been on the other side of the world, but irrevocably shifting closer, looking right back at him. The man that had dared to make amends, to change, to redeem himself through a life of fighting what he once was. But he never was _that_ , not really. He’d been as dark as Harry. As lost. And now this man had finally come to fight for him.

Through the haze of his mind, Harry found the deep grey eyes on his. They were like liquid silver now, carved on his face and craving for something, following the threads on his mind and body. Harry blinked, entranced by the sight of those eyes, mesmerized by the fact that he didn’t need to say anything at all, that Draco knew. He’d seen the dark, Harry’s darkness, and he wasn’t running. He wasn’t afraid of it, or repulsed by it. He was staying.

These were strange thoughts to have when the hand he had been wishing for, for more time than would be healthy, was finally on his cock, touching him. Draco moved his fingers over his prick, while his left hand stilled on Harry’s hipbone. It felt real, more real than anything. The hand pressed into his skin, a gentle push of reality. _This is real. I’m not going anywhere._ Harry felt himself sink more into Draco, feeling his breath against his throat, his chest rising and falling against his throbbing back.

He let his head fall back, against Draco shoulder, his whole body burning up. Draco was there, inside his mind, his desire crashing over Harry in waves, searing as the wonderful pain he’d given him. And he knew what Harry was feeling, he was there, in the darkness, driving them slowly through it. Harry felt out of himself, and more himself than ever, and it was such a strange, beautiful feeling. He could fall into Draco and everything would be fine, because he was there, he had Harry. Like no one ever had.

‘Harry…’

Draco’s voice was pulsing with desire. He felt Draco’s hand leaving his cock, trailing up over his chest and coming up to his forehead, gentle, brushing his hair back. _I’ve got you._ He wanted to cry form the absence of that hand on his prick, even though his thoughts had been wandering, but he felt drunk on Draco’s scent and touch, lost inside everything he did.  

‘Are you okay?’

Draco’s voice was so gentle now. Before, when Harry had been undressing on the bed, that voice had sounded so hard, so commanding, pulsing with power. He’d been so turned on by it. He’d dreamt of it, of this alternating harsh and soft voice, making him go crazy.

Harry managed to nod his answer. He still couldn’t speak or think clearly, only feel the press of Draco’s want coursing through him, his left hand on his hip, so real, so steady. He wanted Draco to take him apart, to fuck him into oblivion and then spell him good and ready and clean, open him up and do it all over again.

He felt Draco’s mouth hot against his throat. A promise that he would do just that.

His kisses went down, teeth nibbling over his clavicule, one of Draco’s arms holding his chest. Draco was still wearing his buttoned down shirt, tight on his arms, while Harry was completely naked. It somehow made sense that it was like this. Harry knew that something would be different the moment Draco decided to take it off, peeling this last layer, the last threshold. He knew it would happen, but he wasn’t in a hurry. Time had no meaning. He wished he could stay forever like this.

Draco’s mouth was moving over his back, warm and slick, his tongue lapping over Harry’s skin, his scars. It was so strange to not feel self-conscious about them. To not feel maimed. He always did with other lovers. But now he didn’t have to explain them for the first time, because Draco knew them. More than knew, he remembered each and every one of them, something Harry had seen in his mind, and wouldn’t have believed it otherwise.

He felt Draco’s fingers skimming over his skin, gentle. He was murmuring a healing spell over his back, his touch careful.

‘No, don’t heal it all… I want… I want your marks on me,’ Harry whispered. He was glad the room was in semi-darkness, only a thread of faint light coming from the window, for Draco could not see his face right now. He’d never felt so vulnerable. He caught a glimpse of the dark grey eyes, intense, over his face.

‘I can’t believe it-’

Harry cut him off with a desperate kiss and drowned in it, Draco’s hands holding him up, his tongue warm and going deep. Something was breaking inside Draco, the remnants of some sort of self-control he’d been managing this far, probably together with the last doubts he had that Harry could want him this way. Draco let out a low growl against Harry’s mouth and Harry felt himself being yanked away from the drowsy pain-induced haze, from his scattered thoughts and back into the physical wonderful reality where Draco’s hard body, half-naked, was pressing against him.

Draco noticed this change too. His hand dropped, and circled Harry’s cock. His long fingers curled perfectly around it and Harry whimpered, now completely aware of the feeling of being stroked by Draco. The pale fingers moved slowly over his prick.

‘Show me how you like it’, he heard. Draco’s voice was a faint whisper.

He shifted against Draco, planting his left hand more firmly against the headboard, sinking his knees on the bed. The control over his own limbs was slowly coming back to him. His right hand dropped over Draco’s on his cock and he moved it down. The slow drag was excruciating. His hips snapped forward, his cock fucking both their hands. Draco was breathing heavily against his neck.

 _I can’t believe you are touching me,_ he thought, eyes fixed on their hands, on the contrast of their skin together, on Draco’s long fingers gripping him, soft, insistent, on his cock dragging in the tight, warm grip. He couldn’t keep from moaning anymore, and he wasn’t trying to. His moans seemed to drive Draco to some breaking point.

_I can’t believe I have you naked on my bed._

Suddenly Draco was turning him around, and helping him lie down carefully on the bed, while he placed himself between Harry’s legs. Harry was pretty sure he was only being this slow and careful because of Harry’s sensitive back, for he could feel Draco’s control crumbling.

For a moment none of them moved or said anything.

Harry looked up at Draco’s devastated face, his eyes like a storm about to eat him alive and he wanted nothing more than to get lost in it, to watch that control crash down in a heap between his thighs. Draco’s eyes were on fire, as he took in Harry’s thoughts, and Harry let his legs fall even more open, invitingly, bracketing them around Draco’s, pulling him down to be able to kiss him.

_Take me._

The thought was imprinted on his body. Draco grunted inside his mouth, his hands going everywhere, as Harry clung to Draco’s shoulders, driving them closer together. He let his fingers skim down Draco’s back, careful because Draco was barely out of the hospital and he was still bandaged. The sudden thought made him pause. Draco caught his lip and spoke against it.

‘We can be careful, don’t worry…’

He nodded, relishing his mouth and his thoughts to Draco. His mouth was open to Draco’s tongue, and they kissed, slowly, teeth biting softly on lips, his moans muffled by Draco’s. He was being kissed like they were falling, but the fall never ended, it began over anew. He could feel Draco’s cock pressed, warm, pulsing, over his hip, and dragged his palm over it. Draco had a perfect cock, it fitted just right in his hand, not too big, just right and warm and real.

Draco pressed forward, fucking into his hand, panting against his mouth and his fingers tightened on Harry’s legs, going up over his sides and his mouth plunged inside Harry’s. There was something so desperate about Draco’s kisses, like he couldn’t take it anymore, like he was really breaking. He released Harry’s mouth, leaving them both breathless and then he went down, his mouth trailing a path over Harry’s chest, his tongue lapping at his nipples and Harry was lost. He could only feel Draco, his body pressed against his, his mouth mapping him, seemingly trying to remember everything about Harry’s body, until his tongue found his hipbone and Harry arched off the bed, trembling.

‘Draco, please,’ he begged, for what he didn’t even know. He only knew he was hard, hard like he’d never been, and Draco’s mouth was too close and not close enough at the same time. Draco kissed his hipbone, lips warm.

‘I wondered… for such a long time. I spent all this time wondering.’

It was Draco’s voice, but it sounded completely different, heavy with desire, his words huffing against Harry’s hipbone, his teeth lightly scraping his skin there. Harry could not keep still, his whole body seeking contact with Draco. He pushed his heels against the bed, his thighs pressing around Draco.

Draco kissed the inside of Harry’s thighs, brushing over the dark hairs, then his mouth went down, slowly, and Harry moaned and opened for him, completely dazzled by the sight of blond hair between his legs.

‘I wondered how a man like you would fuck… taste… smell… feel inside…’ Draco said, seemingly lost in thought, his voice low. ‘Whenever as I so much as looked at you, I couldn’t stop wondering.’

Draco’s words drifted against the hairs on his thighs, as he felt Draco’s hand settle between his arse cheeks. His heart was beating wildly on his chest. A finger prodded over his rim, soft and all the breath left him suddenly. This was happening. He pressed his hand on Draco’s arms, fingers unconsciously gripping, a moan escaping his lips. Draco looked up at him.

‘Do you want me to fuck you, Harry?’

His eyes were a deep shade of grey that took Harry’s whole breath away.

Harry knew Draco already had the answer, but the fact that he asked all the same made Harry almost crazy with want. It was all kinds of hot, watching a wrecked, desperate, Draco Malfoy, his shirt all crumpled, his hair a mess from Harry’s fingers on it, his cheeks bright and red, his lips wet and open, and his cock so hard, jutting between them, his long, knowing, experienced fingers, flexing and now skimming lightly over Harry’s bollocks. Still, this same man was holding his desire at bay for him.

‘Yes,’ Harry said, his breath leaving him again in a rush.  

Draco eyes were so intense on him he felt exposed to a storm, but didn’t look away. He waited with bated breath, as Draco searched the bed for the bottle of lube. He finally found it, slicked two of his fingers, and then they were brushing against his hole, lightly, not pushing. Draco circled that spot, gently, his eyes unwavering, sweat trickling over his forehead, his teeth biting his lip. Harry felt ready, ready for everything Draco might give him. He pushed back against those fingers, a moan coming helplessly out of his mouth, a single thought screaming in his head. _Fuck me._ But instead of feeling Draco’s fingers filling up this emptiness he was becoming very aware of, he felt them retreating. He let out a frustrated groan.

With a hint of a smile, Draco leaned and kissed his hipbone again, just a peck on his skin. He couldn’t read Draco anymore, and he was sure this was on purpose. Draco pushed him over to the side of the bed and then Harry watched as he climbed down and kneeled in front of the bed, between his thighs.

‘What?...’ the protest died away on his lips. Draco had leaned over and gave a tentative, soft lick on his cock. The contact was so unexpected that his whole body trembled, burning, his legs falling open. And then Draco’s slick fingers were there, pressing over his hole, seeking entrance.

Harry had all but lost his ability to breathe. Draco’s eyes burned through him.

‘I’m going to fuck you now, Harry,’ he said, voice heavy and breathless. ‘If you want me to, that is’, he leaned over Harry’ cock, and his mouth simply closed around the tip, his tongue darting to lick the pre-come gathered there. Harry’s scream echoed loud in the bedroom, his hands pressed on the mattress, sweaty and slick, Draco’s fingers still nudging against his hole.

He watched as Draco pulled back again from his cock, licking his lips like he had just tasted heaven there. Which was exactly what Draco was thinking. Harry felt he’d had a taste of heaven too - in that slight touch of Draco’s mouth on his cock - and that he would die if he’d had more of it. Or if he didn’t, he wasn’t quite sure.

‘So.. what do you say, Harry? Do I have your consent?’

Draco’s eyes had never looked so bright over his smirk. That smirk would be Harry’s fucking death, he was sure of it.

‘Fuck me,’ was his only answer, gritted through his teeth.

Draco’s lips parted, breath caught in his throat. And then his fingers pressed forward, sliding into Harry.

Harry’s hands gripped the sheets, his body stretching to allow the fingers in, his mind reeling, Draco’s fingers going deeper, twisting inside. Draco clearly knew what he was doing.

‘Oh god.’

‘Call me Draco.’

The fucking smirk was widening on Draco’s face. Harry laughed, out of breath, his nerves jangled, his cock throbbing for attention, the burn of Draco’s fingers wonderful inside him. 

‘You fucker, Malfoy... Just fuck me.’

Draco laughed, the huffs of his breath ghosting purposefully against Harry’s hard cock. His mouth was so close, but still not touching, as his fingers kept pressing inside Harry, until they were fully seated. Slowly, Draco curved them, pointing upwards and Harry bucked down against them, pleasure shooting madly through his body. He should have known those hands would be like this. They were perfect with everything else - wands, cooking, blunt magic. Why shouldn’t they be with fucking someone senseless?

Draco looked up at him. His fingers stilled inside Harry, denying him the push and pull motion he craved. It was payback time, it seemed.

‘Care to do a cushioning charm?’ Draco said lightly. ‘I think I’m going to be here for a long time,’ and there was that smirk again. ‘My wand hand is quite occupied, you know,’ at that he curved his fingers intently and scissored them. Harry clenched around the fingers and a deep moan got strangled on his throat.

_You fucking tosser._

Harry strained to keep from pushing against those fingers inside him. Fucking Malfoy. Harry had never done a wandless spell _while_ being fucked. He supposed now was as good a time to try as any. He lifted his hand and muttered the spell, concentrating on the spot under Draco’s knees on the floor.

‘You’re impossible,’ Harry said, between curses. After two tries, finally the spell worked. Draco flexed his legs, spreading his knees on the cushioned floor under him. His smile was breathtaking.

‘Hum, better. Perks of fucking the Saviour, I guess’ he said, teasing, the smile bright on his face. He was only half-joking.

His left hand trailed over Harry’s thigh, playing idly with the hairs there and at the same time his fingers finally moved inside Harry. He pushed them slightly back, then in, setting a maddening slow pace. Harry’s whole body flared up, his hips arched off the bed and he let himself fall back on the bed sheets, wide open for Draco to fuck him, his hole clenching in rhythm with Draco’s gentle thrusts.

‘You know, I’ve been wanting to do this since I saw that damned picture on Witch Weekly,’ Draco said, his tone casual.

It drove a moan out of Harry, even before he really got the meaning of the words. He was feeling a bit slow on the uptake, which probably had something to do with the fact that his body had been near the edge for what seemed like hours and he still hadn’t come, not once. Malfoy was going to _kill_ him. Both his maddening hands were doing precisely that now: one moved almost reverently up his thighs, getting closer and closer to his cock; the other fucking slowly into Harry. The tips of his fingers found Harry’s prostate and pleasure shot through him violently. Dazed and slightly crazy, he finally caught up with the meaning of what Draco had said.

‘You… what?!’ he asked, his voice breathless, his hips snapping, fucking into the air. He needed to come. He needed Draco to suck him. To touch him, to fucking do something and stop hitting his prostate so wonderfully like that. He wanted to sob at how good it felt, at how desperate he was for that mouth on his cock, trapping him in pleasure from every angle.

‘It got stuck on my mind. That picture.’

This honesty thing with Draco was nothing short of disarming. He was smiling up at Harry, like it was obvious. Like Harry should have known all along. So this was what all the teasing about that damned article meant. Draco had wanted him since.

‘Actually, even before that,’ Draco said, in answer to his thought, his cheeks slightly tinged. ‘You were always my type.’

 _What the actual fuck, I wish I had known, would it have been any different?_ His disconnected thoughts flickered to nothing when he felt Draco easing another finger into him. He felt them twisting inside him, pushing deeper, as Draco’s other hand moved from his thighs to his heavy bullocks, cupping them.

A scream was forming on the back of his mind, as the fingers drove inside him, Draco’s mouth increasingly closer to his prick. He couldn’t take this anymore, his body felt like it was going to implode.  

‘It shouldn’t be allowed, you know…’ Draco said, thoughtfully, almost speaking to his cock.

‘You can’t be serious,’ Harry said. It came out ragged. That he was even able to speak was a miracle at this point.

‘I’m every bit serious, and you know it,’ Draco eyes were fixed on his fingers fucking into him steadily, but he kept talking, his breath on Harry’s cock.

Harry bucked against his fingers, his hips could no longer keep still. He pressed down, hard and fast, his hands twisting on the sheets, Draco’s voice reaching him through a haze.

‘It shouldn't be allowed,’ Draco repeated, sounding amused. ‘Harry Potter porn. I bet I'm not the only one to think that's a thing,’ he laughed and licked his lips. Harry whimpered desperately.

_But you’re the only one I want. Please, suck me. I want your mouth on me._

Draco looked up at him, ignoring his thought with a teasing smile.

‘I thought I was going crazy, you know. Wanking for weeks with that fucking picture in my mind.’

‘You… what?!’ he cried out, as Draco’s fingers brushed against that spot that sent pleasure coursing through him.

Then it hit him. Draco in his dark room in New York, the magazine over his bed, his hand stroking his cock, his body naked, taut, sweaty, sprawled on the silky sheets, the broken-off scream when he came: _Potter_.

 _Fuck._  Harry felt a jolt all through his body, Draco’s fingers inside him and he was about to come. He lifted his head, his neck taut, his hips lifting up, then coming down, he was going to come like this, with the image of what he had just seen on Draco’s mind, and the reality of Draco on his knees in front of him, his breath tingling over his cock, his fingers moving inside him. Harry was on the verge of tears and the only thing keeping him from coming was the deep seated desire to have Draco’s mouth on him.

‘Draco, please.’

His voice no longer sounded like his own. But this was what Draco did to him. He pushed him to places he’d never gone before. He was going to break, that much was clear. And that was exactly what that damned hot man on his knees wanted.

Draco was looking up at him, a twisted smile playing on his lips. Harry knew he was feeling precisely like Draco wanted him to. Close to the breaking point.

‘I can’t believe that, for all our slips, I never had your cock in my mouth.’

Harry no longer wondered if he could come like this, untouched, with just Draco’s fingers inside him, his mouth speaking all these hidden truths over his stiff cock. He _knew_ he would, if Draco just ordered him to.

He moaned, incoherently, feeling sweat trickling down his pain-throbbing back, and he thrusted upwards again, trying to find Draco’s mouth. The tip hit Draco’s lips and he let out a low scream at the contact. Draco did not move, his lips brushed against his cock, warm.

‘We have to do something about that, don’t you think?’

The lips opened over his cock, and then Draco’s tongue moved along his shaft and Harry yelled. It was as if this scream unleashed something on Draco. He bent his head and his lips pressed on the tip and stretched along it, going so slowly down that Harry thought he was going to die at that moment: with Draco’s mouth closed around his cock and his fingers fucking into him, unrelenting.

Harry did not dare to move, his hands curled into fists, so hard they hurt, tears forming in his eyes. Then Draco moved once, up his length, and his fingers pushed inside Harry’s arse.  

_I’m so thirsty for you, Harry..._

Draco had his eyes closed, and his tongue started playing with the tip of his cock hitting a sweet spot there. How could the bastard have found it so quickly, Harry could not get it. He grunted loud, and shut down a deep cry that wanted out of him, but still did not move his hips, because if he did he would come in a second. Draco's mouth went down again, ever so slowly, sheathing his cock in warmth and slickness.

‘Draco, Draco, Draco…’ he’d dreamed for so long of coming with that name on his lips, and now it was really happening.

Draco opened his eyes. All defenses were down. Those eyes were a storm ready to burst. He moved once again up, his tongue touched that sweet spot and Harry thought he was coming already, with that touch and the fingers twisting inside him. He reeled it in with sheer force of will. Draco's mouth moved back, releasing his cock, which was now red and wet. Draco stared at it, enthralled. He had a trace of precome on his lower lip and Harry could not believe when he licked it. Draco looked up and his eyes were so very alive it hurt. _Fuck,_ _you are delicious._

Harry suddenly remembered something. Consent is sexy.

‘Can I come in your mouth?’

Draco threw his head back, a rippling laugh bursting through him and Harry had never heard him laugh like that. By the feel of it, it had made his heart burst free of his own ribs.

‘Fucking Gryffindor chivalry,’ Draco said, but he was smiling, without any trace of mockery. ‘Yes,’ his eyes were brighter than ever, they looked almost platinum in the semi-darkness. ‘Stop holding back. Fuck my mouth. Show me how much you want me.’

His cock twitched at the words and he didn't need anything else. Harry reached out and grabbed at Draco's hair, then filled him, those eyes never leaving his, and he thrust once, twice, then he couldn’t stop. Draco moaned and whimpered and went down on his cock like he would never want to leave, his fingers curling inside Harry. Harry was finally trapped between his mouth and those fingers and he thrust down into them, then up into Draco’s warm mouth. Every time Harry snapped down, Draco would move in closer, taking all of Harry's cock down his throat and he was gagging, but keeping Harry in place, not wanting him to hold anything back. _Don't you dare stop. Fuck me._ Harry fucked his mouth, his cock pushing into that sweetness, Draco’s fingers inside his hole, his moans getting mixed up with Draco’s and they did not know now who was fucking whom anymore and they didn't care.

_I'm going to come, Draco..._

_Not yet…_

Draco forced them to a slower pace. He moved down, licking at Harry’s shaft and his fingers stopped thrusting and spread instead, burning. With a guttural groan, Harry complied, his body clenching and unclenching around the fingers, reaching further along the threads of pleasure building up in him, and his hips moved up to thrust into Draco’s mouth, then down to feel the stretch of the fingers. He’d never been so close to coming for such a long period of time and it felt impossible and beyond incredible. He was high, his orgasm starting to rip through him in a slow crescendo, his legs trembling, open. His cock hit the back of Draco’s throat and Draco gagged but kept him there, his throat constricting around Harry’s cock, sucking him to oblivion.

_Fuck my mouth properly… then you can fuck my arse._

At that, Harry heard himself scream so loud the sound reverberated on the walls. His whole body was taut and pulsing, his hips snapped, and then Draco’s fingers curved with precision inside him, hitting his prostate and breaking the last of his control.

_Come for me, Harry._

Pleasure zinged through him like lightning bolt and he caught one last sight of the dark grey hungry eyes. He came with such violence he gripped Draco’s head in place and thrust harshly, hitting the back of Draco’s throat and staying there, his whole body seizing up. He was screaming, what - he didn’t even knew or cared. He felt Draco’s fingers still moving in him, deep and perfect as he clamped down on them. Draco’s gag reflex was milking his orgasm from him, in wave after wave. Draco was drinking him down, relishing in it, moaning around his cock. He took Harry’s cock in his hand and nudged the tip against his lips, licking the rest of his orgasm out of him, white come smearing his lips and tongue.

There was a loud ringing in his years, black spots on his vision and Harry fell backwards against the sheets, feeling Draco’s fingers easing slowly out of him.

When he came to, Draco was still kneeling between his parted legs.

Harry sat, feeling the room spinning around him and finally his eyes came to focus on Draco. There was come dripping from Draco’s lips, _his_ come, down Draco’s chin. Harry could not believe the sight Draco made, kneeling on the floor, rumpled and flushed, his blazing grey eyes on Harry. He stared, unable to breathe or think, but still able to act.

He pulled Draco up, closer, then pushed him to straddle his lap, his arms wrapping around Draco’s back. They were both slick and sweaty and molding against each other. He felt the brush of Draco’s mouth on his and then he took it, desperately, Draco’s lips parting for him, pliantly, willingly. Harry licked the come from his chin, dragging his tongue over it, then up to his lips, nipping, biting slowly, getting lost in his own flavour mixed up with Draco’s very distinctive one: still apples and rain like their first kiss.

He breathed against Draco’s lips, their bodies entwined, the scent of Draco everywhere on him. They stood like that for some time. The only sound was his own beating heart against Draco’s.

***

  
‘That was… the fucking sexiest thing I’ve ever…’ Harry said, breathless, against his lips.

Their mouths crashed together. Now that they could do it, it felt like a waste of time to stay apart even for a minute. Draco could not stop smiling into the kiss. He felt dizzy from Harry’s taste, from the rush of drinking up his spunk, from the feel of Harry’s cock in his mouth, warm, heavy, perfect, from the searing kisses afterwards. He never wanted to stop. Harry kissed like he did everything else, with his whole body, with everything he had. Draco wanted to drown in the feeling: Harry’s tongue licking inside his mouth, his taste on his lips, his warmth enveloping him, his hands on his legs, then climbing up his back.

He heard himself chuckle, helpless to fight the feeling of giddy happiness bursting through his chest. His arms wrapped around Harry’s neck, his mouth brushing over Harry’s jaw.

‘Eloquent, Harry... And here I thought you were getting better at words… all those speeches and that love declaration in an hospital room...’

Harry kissed him hard, just to shut him up, and laughed, his deep, careless laugh echoing inside Draco. God, he loved teasing Harry, even now, when he’d just had him in his mouth. Maybe, _especially_ now.

‘Well, _excuse me_ , but I’ve just had the best orgasm of my life…’ Harry said playfully, voice husky and breaking again in a laugh. ‘Words are meaningless after that.’

Fuck, Harry had the most sexy fucked-out voice ever, Draco thought. Harry pressed inside his mouth, his tongue teasing Draco’s lips open. He felt drunk on Harry’s taste - definitely better than any wine he’d ever had.

‘Humm... that so?’ Draco laughed. It was so weird, but it felt so good. He couldn’t believe that he was straddling Harry, his legs wrapped around him, his cock hard between them, Harry’s hands on his back, pressing them together. Harry made him feel so light. So free. Like he could do anything. Everything.

Draco lifted his hand and brushed the dark messy hair back. The just-shagged look really fitted Harry. That he could do something so casual like touch Harry’s hair, tangling his fingers on the strands, make it messier even, made him feel almost fuzzy. So he kept on teasing.

‘You know I'm highly competitive. I'll probably try to top my own performance next time.’

Harry chuckled and gave him one of his smiles. Again, his heart felt dislodged from its proper place on his chest. He would never get used to those.

‘Then good for you I'm also competitive,’ Harry threw back. ‘Especially with you.’

Draco laughed. _We’re gonna kill each other, you know that?_ Harry nodded, eyes bright. _At least now we get to do that naked and on a bed._ Draco could not stop another laugh that wanted out of him. He trailed kisses down Harry’s jaw, then on the dimples that formed on his face.

His cock brushed against Harry’s stomach, unattended. He pressed closer to Harry, his legs wrapped tightly, and his hands trailed down Harry’s arms, nails scraping the skin. Harry closed his eyes, sucking in a breath.

‘Merlin, Draco... if you keep that up I'll be up for a third round…’

‘Good... because there's still something here for you to take care of,’ Draco said, pushing his hips forward, so that his prick dragged over Harry’s skin.

Harry looked down, feigning surprise, a smile on his lips.

‘Poor baby... You've been hard for so long…’ Harry said, his hands dropping to Draco’s waist and then cupping his arse. Draco hissed, as Harry pulled him even closer, the feeling of his hands on him too good to be allowed.

‘Fuck you,’ he gritted out.

But he loved that tone on Harry’s voice. It did things to him. His whole body felt heated, he was still half-dressed and he wanted Harry to keep talking like that  and undress him, slowly, with those gentle hands of his.

‘Yes, _fucking me_ ,’ Harry said, his voice lower than before. It made Draco shudder, his hands grabbing at Harry’s shoulders.

Harry’s hands travelled up his back and down his arms, skimming over the fabric. He wanted to be completely naked against Harry, to feel his skin against his own. He shivered at the thought and Harry noticed it.

The green eyes changed quite suddenly to a darker shade.

‘That's why you are this hard... from fucking me. How long was it, baby?’

 _Well, fuck._ Draco felt heady. Harry had a way of saying precisely the things he wanted to hear, in the exact way he needed to hear them. Even if he wouldn’t admit that out loud. Ever. At least, definitely not _outside_ of this bedroom.

‘Hours. Feels like hours,’ Draco said, his voice coming out strained.

Harry moved closer to bite on his lip, then dragged his tongue over it. His right hand was moving over Draco’s back, the other still down his arse, kneading. Draco rolled his hips forward, and they both gasped. He tried it again, his legs straining as he built up the slow rhythm over Harry, slow slow, burn burn. His cock was dragging helplessly against Harry’s stomach, full and needy. He felt feverish, his body sweaty under Harry’s hands, his shirt becoming dampened and sticking to his skin.

‘Touch me, please…’ he whispered against Harry’s ear.

Harry kissed him, wet and deep and his hands were finally on his collar, fingers brushing the fabric and then skimming over the skin of his chest.

‘Shh gorgeous, I’m going to take care of you.’

Fuck, he loved Harry speaking to him like this. He loved how the roles reversed with them, just like that. He’d never wanted men calling him gorgeous or baby, but with Harry it felt different. Right. Harry made him feel safe, protected and he really knew he was, so it wasn’t just words empty of any meaning. It made sense, it was real. And he wanted to be _that_ for Harry. He wanted to be the gorgeous man under Harry. The man Harry Potter fucked, touched, kissed, spelled all better and then fucked again.  

‘You are so fucking beautiful,’ Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper. He eased open another button on Draco’s shirt, then his mouth was on his skin, kissing, his teeth scraping over gently, his hands gripping the collar.

Draco gasped, from the touch, from the words, he didn’t even know anymore.

‘I love it when you leave these two open,’ Harry said, his fingers on the two top buttons.

Draco felt himself smile.

‘I know… why do you think I leave them open?’

Harry laughed and opened more buttons, his hands burning everywhere they touched Draco. Harry looked uneasily at the bandage over his chest, his fingers barely scraping the material.

‘Does it hurt?’

‘Not now. No. We just have to be careful.’

‘I will be.’

_You always are._

He let himself go under Harry’s eyes and hands, as Harry kept undressing him, his fingers fumbling with the buttons, opening them carefully, then pushing the shirt open and letting it fall down Draco’s shoulders.

Draco breathed out. Somehow, he’d never felt this exposed. Harry leaned in and his mouth trailed down Draco’s shoulders, over his collarbone, then over his arms. He was so gentle, Draco closed his eyes against the onslaught on his heart. When he opened them, he was completely naked, his shirt forgotten on the floor and Harry was looking at him, eyes brimming with want.

He realised then that he’d never let Harry see him like this. This was the first time he was completely naked around someone. The thought scared him and made him burst with a strange happiness, all at the same time.

He watched as Harry's eyes travelled down his torso, taking in every bit of him, and he still could not believe what he saw in there. He knew he was attractive to most men, that his body was in shape, that men wanted to shag him because of this body, but he had never been looked at like that. Like that moment was everything. Like _he_ was everything. Harry's eyes dropped to his left arm and to the scars there. Draco flinched.

He had completely forgotten.

Harry was looking at his Dark Mark and he could not fight the urge to hide it. He removed his arm from where Harry's hands were caressing it and stood up, stepping back.

‘Draco?’

He held his arm against his torso, cradling it with his right one, and avoided the green eyes staring right at him. _Through him,_ like they could see into his core. His heart was thundering on his ears. There was a reason he always fucked half-dressed. There was a reason he always wore long sleeves. He usually didn’t let anyone see that mark, or his other scars on his torso. But he had been so comfortable around Harry that he’d all but forgotten.

‘Don't look at it,’ he breathed out, his voice failing him.

That was Harry, the only other wizard alive that had a deep connection to his two, more visible, scars. He’d been marked by Harry and by the man Harry had eradicated from the world. Those scars linked them. How could he have forgotten about that? About being completely naked around Harry? He felt more vulnerable now than with anything else they’d done so far.

‘I was looking at the tattoo there... A constellation…’ Harry said, a tentative smile on his face.

Draco exhaled deeply. Right, the tattoo. He'd forgotten it was there, covering the Dark Mark’s scarring, tiny dots and lines over his forearm.

‘It was Luna's idea,’ he heard himself say, his voice fragile in between them. ‘Draco's constellation. I got it at a Muggle tattoo shop Ginevra recommended to Luna.’

‘So that night… the blow job night,’ a smile flickered on Harry’s lips in the semi-darkness of the room. ‘When Luna said that you two were going to a tattoo shop… that was when you got it?’

Draco nodded. He knew Harry was trying to calm him. He felt his mind soothing him across the room, saying everything was okay. Not only that, Harry really wanted to know more about this.

Draco stepped closer to the bed and turned his arm for Harry to see. The light from the window caught on his white skin. The dots and lines were slightly visible in the dim light. The scar wasn’t, but he knew it was there, he was always too aware of it.

‘My tattooer specializes in covering up scars. She said this was pretty difficult because the scarring is deep, but that we could add to the design and decorate the rest of the arm. For now it's like this, but I’ll probably do the whole arm.’

He didn't know why he was telling Harry all of this. He was still holding his own arm close, but no longer hiding it. Harry did not move to touch it, or tried to get any closer to Draco. He sat still on the bed, looking at Draco with a sort of awe and empathy and... There was something more there and it was so good and inexplicable that Draco refused to read it. He was feeling more naked than ever.

‘It’s a Muggle tattoo,’ Harry said, smiling. It was such a simple fact, but it meant more, and they both knew it.

‘I didn't want any more magic on this arm. Or ever will. I already have another appointment to continue this drawing. I asked my tattooer to draw some narcissus,’ he finally lifted his eyes from his arm and looked at Harry again. He was pretty sure he didn’t need to explain the meaning of this new tattoo.

‘I really liked what she drew for me. The design is minimalist, simple. I’ll show you later, if you want. It’ll cover the whole forearm, and then I’ll think of something for the rest.’

_Something good._

Harry was still smiling, and that smile was doing again that which Draco loved. It was spreading from everywhere on his face, his eyes becoming ever more green, if possible.

Draco’s heart skipped a bit and he came over to the bed. He was not so afraid anymore, but his hands still shook as he bent down, reaching for Harry’s face.

Harry pressed a kiss against the palm of his hand and Draco leaned over, taking Harry’s mouth with his. This time, it was nothing like before, no despair, only a soft burning and brushing of lips, a slow hunger building up sweetly between them. He felt Harry's arms pulling him close and he moved to sit on his lap again, knees to each side of Harry.

His hands locked on the back of Harry's neck and they stood like that for a long time, Harry's hands tracing patterns on his chest, lightly, brushing over the older Sectumsempra scar. Some of it was under the bandage, but there was a visible trail down Draco’s torso. They didn’t speak, but he could feel Harry’s guilt, as the fingers brushed over the ridge of the old scar.

‘Don’t do that,’ he whispered, and Harry made a sound with the back of his throat, strangled. He rested his head against Harry’s damp forehead. He could hear Harry’s thoughts as clearly as if he was speaking out loud. Worry. Guilt. Shame. Everything a person like Harry should never feel.

‘Let it go. It’s part of me now. It’s something of you in me, in a way. And it’s something about me too. About the path I made to get here. Who I was, who I am. That’s what I remember when I look at it. It’s not like _his_ mark. It never will be. I’m not covering this one up with a tattoo. I want it there. I don’t want to forget.’

He didn’t know he was going to say that until he said it. Harry looked at him, conflicted. Draco didn’t know what to do or say, so he kissed him, slow, tearing gently at their shared pain, until it broke apart. Harry’s lips opened up under his, his body melting into the kiss. Draco knew it would take more than this for them to leave all the guilt behind them. He also knew he couldn’t be the one to take it from Harry, to make it all better. He could support Harry and he would, but he could not save him. Nor the other way around. They were both messed up and no amount of kisses could erase that. But right now he needed this. The feel of Harry under him, on him, it didn’t matter. They deserved this, this time out of the world, out of the mess, out of the pain. Harry breathed deep against his neck and Draco knew that even in this they were attuned. He let his thoughts go, and concentrated on Harry’s warmth, this unique warmth he’d spend all his life craving. Harry was kissing his hands, his fingers, and his eyes flickered to the tattoo again, a question on his eyes and on his mind that Draco could ear clearly. _Can I?_

‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘Yes.’

And then Harry was kissing over his Dark Mark and his tattoo and Draco simply closed his eyes and let the intense feeling rake over him, not trying to suppress it anymore. Harry’s mouth opened, warm, over his skin, trailing down his forearm. Draco felt himself break apart under it, his whole body giving in to the touch, losing the fight, sinking into the feeling of Harry’s mouth on his skin, his tongue licking over that place of pain. It would never take it away, but Draco now knew he could make new memories, even over the older ones. He could do that with everything in his life. He had hated that place in his body for so long, but Harry did not hate it. That was what his mouth, opening gently over it, was telling Draco. _I don’t hate it, I don’t hate any part of you._ Draco let himself fall into it. Right now he wanted Harry to make him forget there was a world outside of that room, that there was any world beyond that mouth on his feverish skin, that there was anything beyond those hands roaming over his back, down his legs. The only thing that mattered now was Harry’s mouth, sucking on his wrist, trailing over the lines of his veins, then licking over his palm, reaching his fingers.

Draco shivered and felt his cock swelling in between their bodies. It was strangely marvellous that Harry wasn’t even going for it, although Draco could feel that Harry’s body was intensely aware of everything on him. Harry was getting hard again, and as if to underline that he felt Harry’s cock brushing against his, heavy and warm. Fuck. The sensation was too overwhelming. Neither of them were moving to touch their cocks. Harry’s mouth was open on his wrist, sucking gently and Draco felt heat radiating from that point, spreading over every stretch of skin Harry touched. Harry’s mouth was trailing over the sensitive skin of his forearm, tracing the lines and dots, then his fingers were there instead and Harry’s lips were on his. They moaned against each others mouths, Draco's hands moving along Harry's arms. He gripped them, loving the feel of the muscles under his hands and rolled his hips forwards, experimentally. Harry groaned against his shoulder, his breath catching instantly, and Draco did it again, feeling Harry’s hands tightening over his arse, pulling them closer. Their cocks were trapped between their bodies, and Draco wanted to reach down and grip them both in his hand. He followed the thought with his hand. Harry rocked his hips, eyes stilling over Draco’s face, as Draco pulled them slowly closer to orgasm, his hand slick and tight, wanking them both. Harry was moaning inside his mouth and Draco was moaning too, still amazed that he didn’t care for the sounds he made when he was with Harry.

He marvelled at the intense chemistry between them, at the push and pull of their tongues, hands and bodies. His body fitted perfectly with Harry’s, like their magic did. Draco sucked on one of Harry’s fingers, his hand slowing down over their cocks. He felt too close to coming, their bodies moving slow and finding their own rhythm, their cocks grinding against each other.

‘Oh fuck, I could come like this…’ Harry whispered, rocking into Draco, his cock dragging heavy against Draco’s, his fingers still being sucked into Draco’s mouth. His voice was almost unrecognizable, drenched in want.

‘Oh no, you won’t.’

Draco took another one of Harry’s fingers inside his mouth, and his tongue twirled around it. He sucked slowly on two fingers, getting them wet and slick, revelling in the fact that Harry could not stop watching him. Harry was gasping for air, his body taut under Draco, his chest and cheeks flushed.

‘You’re going to fuck me with these fingers, and then with your cock,’ Draco said, watching minutely for Harry’s reactions, the way he immediately sucked in a sharp breath, the way his hips snapped unavoidably, the way the dark green eyes weren’t leaving Draco’s mouth. He was so close to losing his mind, and Draco knew just how to push him further.  
  
‘I want you to come inside me,’ he said, his lips against Harry’s parted ones, his tongue licking lightly over them. Harry tried to kiss him, mouth desperate, breath hitching, going out of control, but Draco pulled back, capturing again one of Harry’s fingers in his mouth. He sucked it, slowly, like he’d done to Harry’s cock, then released it.

‘Fuck, Draco-’

‘Fuck me, Harry. That is…’ he knew his smile was downright provocation. ‘If you still want to.’

At that, Harry lost it. He grunted in response, his mouth crashing over Draco’s, teasing it apart as he lifted them both off the bed, his hands on Draco’s arse, Draco's legs wrapping automatically around his waist. Harry pushed him gently against the wall, on the other end of the room. Draco bit down a moan, mouth taken over by Harry’s tongue. He was pretty sure Harry had only been this gentle because of his injury. Otherwise he would have been slammed against that wall. But that was the only gentle thing about Harry now, because he was taking Draco’s mouth hungrily, his hands splayed over his arse, insistent and demanding, his tongue fucking Draco’s mouth until he could barely breathe.

He loved that Harry could just lift him like that, carry him like that. He loved that Harry was strong, that his arms could wrestle him to do the ground if he wanted to, or pin him to a wall. That Harry could overpower him this easily. It made him fucking hard. _Fuck me, fuck me._ He didn't say it aloud but his head was screaming it and he knew Harry had heard it. This was something right out of one of Draco’s oldest fantasies. He was gasping against the wall, Harry’s hands going everywhere on his body, frantic and needy, his mouth licking over his neck, then sucking on his skin, deep enough to leave a mark. Harry’s hands on his arse, rough and determined, their cocks grinding together. Draco’s legs were tight around Harry’s waist, as Harry pressed his arms up against the wall, green eyes blown wide, lips swollen from their violent kisses.

‘I have a… thing for your arms,’ Draco murmured in between the assault on his mouth. He could barely think, he was so hard his cock was hurting against his stomach. He could see the muscles on Harry’s arms, as Harry kept him trapped against the wall.

‘You do?’ Harry’s mouth was trailing down his neck, leaving marks. Draco wished he wasn’t injured, wished Harry could get his mouth on all of him, on his chest, on his nipples. He wanted Harry to devour him whole.

‘Yeah… kept thinking about how they’d pin me down…’ his confession was cut off by a loud moan, as Harry ground his hips forward, his cock dragging heavy against Draco’s, his hands gripping his wrists harder on the wall.

‘Like this?’

‘Oh fuck… yes.’

They were rutting against each other now, every push of Harry’s hips met by his own. His legs were straining, but Harry had him against the wall, his strong arms pressing him there, and that was all that mattered now.  

‘What else did you think?’

‘I… I used to think of you pinning me to a wall. At Hogwarts.’

Harry stopped biting on his neck and looked at him, a smile flickering over his lips. Draco knew he would normally feel ashamed of what he’d just said, but he didn’t have it in him just then, not with Harry looking like he was about to fuck him into the wall. And Draco badly wanted him to do just that.

‘Wanking teenage fantasies. Yeah,’ he said, the slow roll of his hips punctuating his words. Harry pulled on his lower lip, the pressure on his wrists increasing, and Draco arched of the wall, seeking friction against Harry’s cock.  

‘So… in those fantasies I would come up to you and push you into a wall, like this, then what?’

Harry’s voice was low and dark, so aroused Draco felt weak. There seemed to be no point in stopping now. He was so hard, he’d been waiting seven bloody years for something like this. He let his head fall back against the wall, Harry biting on his jaw, his hard cock pressing and dragging against Draco’s skin. He wanted to sink down into it so, so badly.

‘We’d argue. But… you’d be hard for me the whole time. I would be hard for you. You’d force me down, kiss me. You’d take my mouth, shutting me up. I’d try to get away but you wouldn’t let me.’

‘Like this?’

Harry suddenly let him down, Draco’s knees almost giving way under him, but Harry had him trapped between his body and the wall, hands steady and gentle on his waist, but his mouth insistent over Draco’s. Harry’s hands gripped hard at his hair and he kissed Draco. It was a different kind of kiss, this one seemed yanked directly out of Draco’s dirtiest fantasies. Harry wasn’t letting him kiss back, he was controlling the kiss to his liking, adjusting Draco’s head in place as he wanted it, coaxing his mouth open and Draco felt his mouth being plowed into thoroughly. He was gasping for air, and Harry didn’t let him move his arms even. Draco took it all, his every thought coalescing into this moment.

Harry turned Draco around, face against the wall, his hand on Draco’s neck, keeping him in place. Draco breathed hard, his cock brushing against the wall, the feel of Harry behind him too good to be true. Harry’s hard cock was pressing suddenly against his arse, Harry’s hands climbing up and down his back and then they were simply pinning his arms up against the wall. Draco felt helpless, powerless, and so fucking turned on he realised seconds later his cock was leaking against the wall.

‘Fuck, yes. Fuck me,’ he babbled.

‘I suppose that’s what you’d say,’ Harry said, teasingly, but one of his hands was moving down, over Draco’s sides, then down the curve of his arse, his fingers warm and spread out.

‘Fuck you, Potter.’

It felt so good to be touched by those hands. They could go anywhere for all he cared. Everywhere they went made him yearn for more. Harry’s fingers were trailing over Draco’s crease. They were warm and still slick from Draco’s mouth, but not enough to fuck him. Harry moved them over his rim, pressing one there, just a light touch. Enough to make him buck back, desperate.

‘Hum... I don’t think so, Malfoy. You’re begging _me_ to be fucked. What happens next?’

Draco arched against him violently because that touch there had been a long time coming. Every fibre of his being felt wired to Harry

‘I… fuck, Harry. I’d let you.’

‘I think you would beg me.’

Harry grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, capturing Draco’s mouth again, his lips swollen and bitten already, as Harry’s fingers went down along his crease, nearing his hole, a fingertip pressed gently there and Draco bucked back again, his moan being drowned by Harry’s hungry one.

‘Harry.’

He didn’t sound like himself at all. Harry Potter could turn him into a begging, desperate, turned-on little boy slut in seconds.

‘Beg.’

Harry’s voice was commanding, impossible to ignore, it went through him and he clung to the last remnants of his Malfoy’s ways, trying to prolong this helpless resistance against the inevitable, knowing they were both getting off on it.

‘Potter, you fucking tease.’

‘Look who’s talking. Beg for my cock, Malfoy. You’ll have it. All of it.’

At that Harry slid his cock between Draco’s thighs and moaned against his back. He cursed and rolled his hips forward. Draco whimpered - needy and quivering - and did not care. That cock was all he wanted. And that hard voice, making him fall apart.

‘Look at you... desperate for it. Tell me how much you want it,’ Harry whispered against his back, and now Draco was shaking under him.

‘I spent seven fucking years wanting it,’ he managed to say, trying to sound like himself still, holding on to the last tendrils of his logic, the last threshold before the fall.

But Harry was having none of that. He wrapped one hand around Draco’s hip, and dragged his cock slowly between Draco’s thighs, a slow torturing drag that left them both panting. Draco closed his eyes, biting hard on his own lip.  

‘Beg prettily, Malfoy… say the words with that pretty mouth of yours. Beg and you won’t be so empty anymore, you’ll have my cock inside you.’

Merlin, Harry had the dirtiest mouth. And the way he said it, slow and demanding and still so caring, made Draco shatter.

‘Please, fill me up,’ Draco begged. Now that Harry had said it, he felt so empty, so needy. Harry’s fingers were suddenly where he wanted them, pressed over his rim, seeking entrance.

With his other hand, Harry _accioed_ the bottle of lube, lost somewhere on the sheets. It came zooming into his lifted hand. Magic whirled around them, and the sheer electricity of it drove Draco under. Harry’s brand of magic was a sort of aphrodisiac he’d had to ignore for too long. Now he didn’t have to. His body was shaking, the crack of magic between them, his skin throbbing, heated all over, his body flushed against Harry.

Harry was slicking his fingers in lube, smearing his hole with it too. It was too slow, everything was too slow.

‘Oh fuck. Fuck. Please. Harry, please fuck me,’ his voice was low, and he breathed against the wall, his hands seeking purchase there. Harry pulled him back by his hair and kissed him, hard and demanding, his hips rolling against Draco’s arse, his cock sliding between his thighs.

‘Be patient, baby,’ Harry whispered. That voice and choice of words, just about did it. Draco bit back a whine. He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t come if Harry just said so, as long as he kept talking like this and pressing him against the wall.  

‘Spell coming,’ Harry warned, his breath a gentle huff against Draco’s neck, and Draco felt his magic cleaning him and preparing him. Of course he'd done this non-verbally and wandlessly and Draco did not know anything hotter. He had fallen hard for this wizard, he knew it so clearly now that if anyone asked him at that moment he'd tell them the whole truth. How he was madly in love with Harry Potter, with everything about him, the parts everyone knew about, and the darkest, enclosed parts, only a few got to know. How lucky he felt to be one of those chosen few.

‘I’m the lucky one, Draco,’ Harry whispered, voice wrecked, and Draco closed his eyes, as Harry’s fingers breached him, slow and careful and wanting.

Draco adjusted his hips, canting back and opening his legs wider. He felt weak, but Harry had his arm around him, as his fingers pressed deeper, his mouth kissing soothingly between his shoulders blades. Draco breathed deep. This position wasn’t the easiest, his back ached, his hips bucking back, his face pressed to the wall, but right now he didn’t care, he wanted to feel Harry opening him up like this. It didn’t take long for him to be ready for another finger. Harry scissored them, and he pushed in and pulled out, easing Draco’s resistance bit by bit. He was really good at this. So gentle and insistent. He had three fingers inside him now, the uncomfortable burn was easing away and Draco wanted more.

‘You are so tight,’ Harry said, and his voice sounded awed and desperate. Draco took pleasure in it, because if he was feeling like this, he wanted Harry to fall apart too. ‘Fuck. God. Is this good? I don't want to hurt you.’

He could not even answer. Was it good? He was rock hard, his cock leaking continuously against the wall, those fingers filling him up, his hole stretching around them.

‘Move,’ he gritted.

And Harry did. The sensation was painful and so good that Draco felt his eyes prickle with tears. He had been fucked by so many men. Shags had been good to fill up the void, the time, to make him forget, to take the pain away or bring it back to be remembered, to get him exhausted so he was finally able to sleep. This was entirely different. Nothing had been like this… Harry had pulled his head back and was kissing him on the corner of his lips, mouth gentle, his fingers, experienced and slow inside him, and Draco felt like he was being fucked for the first time. He had no other reason for spreading his legs for Harry other than the deep-seated want he felt for him. He wanted Harry’s cock inside him, not because he wanted to forget, but because he wanted this, this moment, to imprint on his mind forever.

Harry scissored his fingers inside him again and Draco pushed back, his hole clenching and unclenching rhythmically. Then Harry slightly curled the tip of his fingers and pushed in deeper. Pleasure shot violently through Draco's body, as Harry drew back and pushed back in, and then kept going.

‘Fuck, yes,’ his whole body was trembling, straining against Harry. He could feel Harry’s fingers moving inside him, pulling and pushing in a slow rhythm, then stopping and hitting the perfect spot. Of course he’d be just as good at this as he was in everything else. _Bastard_ , was his thought, followed by _perfect, beautiful, wonderful bastard, fuck me,_ as pleasure coursed heavily through his veins, almost making him black out. Harry chuckled against the corner of his mouth, and his fingers pressed against Draco’s prostate with amazing precision. His legs were trembling and he was only standing because Harry was holding him up, an arm around his chest. Draco wanted to scream, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t find his own voice, as those fingers kept going in and out of him, gentle and knowing. If Harry didn’t fuck him with his cock, he would end up coming like this. The fingers came to a halt inside him.

‘I think we should move to the bed,’ Harry said into Draco's ear. Draco moaned, he wanted to disagree but his legs were killing him and the idea of Harry pounding him on his bed was immensely appealing, even if it was a clichè. Harry let out a bright easy laugh, kissed his jaw, his fingers sliding carefully out of Draco, leaving him empty. He wanted them back.

‘I know, I’m ruining your fantasy and I’m such a clichè,’ Harry said, in answer to his lifted eyebrow, as he gently turned Draco around.

Draco heard himself laugh, suddenly lightheaded, his arms coming up around Harry’s neck. He wanted to tell Harry he could never ruin one of his fantasies while naked. Or dressed, in any case.

‘I promise you it will be the last clichè of this night,’ Harry said against his throat.

‘We’ll see about that,’ Draco answered, barely recognizing his own voice.

How could Harry make him feel this light, this free? He didn’t know, he just knew he loved this new, amazing feeling. Life could be this too, not just hardship. It could be laughs. It could be his boyfriend pressing him against a wall, hands careful and strong, and easy smiles. It could be him, laughing, pushing himself against Harry, dizzy and aroused and fucking turned-on. It could be anything he dreamed.

‘Now be a nice boyfriend, carry me to bed and fuck me senseless with that beautiful cock, won’t you?’

  
***

 

Harry wondered if Draco knew at all the effect he had on him. He wasn’t sure he really knew, even with their mental connection. There were things that felt beyond coherent thought.

He watched as Draco settled on the bed, laying on his chest, his thighs spread apart over the sheets. The room was suddenly silent, every movement slow, like time had stopped for them to have this.

He still couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to see Draco like this, naked and compliant. Harry climbed on the bed, settling between Draco’s thighs, his eyes traveling from the disheveled blond hair, along the line of Draco’s smooth back and then down the perfect curve of his arse. It was better than everything he had imagined, and he had imagined a lot. Reality surpassed fiction, because he could never have hoped for Draco to let his guard down like he was doing.

Draco sighed on the bed, but didn’t speak, just spread his thighs further apart and pressed his elbows to the mattress, the muscles on his back moving with the change in position. He was letting Harry see him, take him in and Harry did. After years spent running from this intimacy and craving it so badly, he wanted every second of it to sink down into him. Even the silence wasn’t upsetting. For the first time, he didn’t feel as if a heavyweight was hanging between them, seeping between their words, tearing them apart. No, for the first time, silence felt right, easy, filled with raw want. He didn’t feel the need to fill that silence with anything else, to mask it with bickering, or half-truths, too afraid to let his feelings betray him and show on his face, on his hands. Now, he could just let it all seep through him. He could touch Draco, really touch him, and not be afraid of another cold war rising between them.

His thoughts were serious and solemn, even as his heart was beating wildly in his chest, his body burning with desire. It seemed fitting, somehow. He was serious about Draco, like he’d been serious about Ginny - all those years before. But now he was finally ready, like he’d never been. He’d grown into the person he was now, and that person was in love the man lying naked before him. He breathed deeply and still Draco did not comment on his quiet behaviour. He waited.

Harry bent over Draco and his hands caressed down his back, gentle over the bandage, then trailing down his sides and his legs. Draco just let him, body sinking more into the mattress and allowing Harry to take his time. He noticed the slight dimple on Draco’s lower back, right before the swell of his arse, and bent down to kiss it, delighting in the sharp intake of breath from the man under him. A soft break in the silence. He kissed that spot, his hands setting on Draco’s hips, his fingers caressing the sharp hipbones. He loved those hipbones, jutting out, perfect for his hands to wrap around. Which he did, as he bent over Draco, inhaling his scent. He smelled so good everywhere. Harry kissed down the curve of his arse, kneading and spreading his cheeks apart. He stared, mouth-watering, at Draco’s hole, wet and stretched from his fingers.

‘You look good enough to eat,’ he said softly, and Draco trembled under his hands. Harry lifted his head, and found Draco looking back at him.

Dark grey eyes. He was in love with those eyes, he had been for a long time. They had been the first thing about Draco to capture him completely.

‘Why don’t you?’ Draco said simply and it was the raw tone and those unguarded eyes before him, even more than naked Draco, that did it.

‘Open for me,’ he said, fighting to keep his voice steady as possible, when his whole body was screaming for him to drown into that heat and forget everything before this moment. Draco’s hands came back and he held his arse cheeks open for Harry, his breath heaving.

Harry adjusted his hand under Draco to pull his hips slightly up, and then he was licking a path down his crease. Draco also tasted good everywhere, as he should have known. He’d certainly imagined it too many times.

Something deep and hungry rose up inside him, driven by a moan, muffled on the pillows. His tongue trailed a path from the beautiful dimple on top of Draco’s arse, down his crease, over his hole, then downwards until he was mouthing Draco’s heavy bollocks, sucking them carefully in his mouth, one after the other. He teased gently at the sensitive skin there. He’d never had a special interest in this part of a man’s body, but with Draco he was into everything he could touch. Or kiss. Or suck. It was worth it, because Draco reacted to everything he did. Like now. He was whimpering, bucking back into Harry’s mouth, his hard cock dragging painfully against the sheets. Harry forced him to stay steady, pressing him to the mattress, and going back up to lick at his hole.

 _Did I mention I love eating arse?_ His teasing thought was met by a loud incoherent moan from Draco, as Harry pressed his mouth over the rim and sucked gently on it. The gentleness was over in a second. He was heady, so fucking hard and turned-on, and Draco’s taste was the tipping point. He nipped at the skin there, then his tongue breached inside, and Draco trashed under him, pressing his arse back and Harry felt like he was going to come or die from this, either way he was falling, drowning into that wet heat, Draco panting heavily under him.

_Fuck, Draco, you taste so good. I could eat you forever._

Harry pressed two fingers to the rim and they slid inside easily, all resistance gone. Draco was falling apart under him, his head pressed to the pillow, his blond hair a tangled mess, muffled words Harry couldn’t get, and his mind was screaming. Harry could hear it quite clearly. He fucked Draco faster, his fingers being sucked down by his hole, his tongue lapping over the rim, Draco bucking back with each thrust.

 _Fuck me like you do everything else._ Draco had the most vicious mind, his thoughts were racing, too fast for Harry to even catch all of them.

_I want your cock inside me, fucking me, opening me, I want to ride it, to be impaled, I want you coming all over me and I want you to let go… take me. Take me everyway._

Harry wanted to draw it all out, this fire, he wanted those thoughts to turn into screams of incoherence under him. He wanted to watch Draco break. He curved his fingers and Draco shouted, pressing back, his hands searching blindly for Harry behind him, trying to get a hold of him and pull him closer.

_Harry, Harry..._

Harry stopped licking and pulled back slightly. The room swam before his eyes, he felt dizzy from arousal and Draco’s taste.

Draco whined, his whole body shuddering, his hole clenching hard, trying to keep Harry’s fingers inside. Harry moved to place his other hand over Draco’s back, soothing him, sliding his fingers slowly in and out. He took in the sight of his fingers disappearing inside Draco, of his naked sweaty body, of his taut back and disheveled hair. This pliant man under him, pushing down and back on his fingers, legs parted, this man wasn’t cold, he’d never been cold, calm and collected. When all those masks were gone, Draco was this. Open, vulnerable, willing, all fire. Harry felt his heart tighten. This was the man he was in love with. A man with pretend-cold grey eyes and a burning storm inside him. A man who yearned to be wanted and loved, after all. A man that had had so few people telling him he was wanted.

‘You are such a good boy for me, Draco,’ he said, and Draco’s whole body reacted to his words, his hole clenching hard around his fingers. So, it was as he’d thought, Draco liked to be praised… this was just fucking perfect because he had a lifetime of things to praise him for.

‘And you like to be a good boy, don’t you?’

Draco’s mind was screaming yes, yes, yes, a whine was out of his mouth, and Harry felt dizzy from the intensity of it.

‘You’re such a good fuck,’ he said, his voice gruff and unsteady, but growing stronger as he kept speaking. ‘So beautiful like this, all spread open under me. I want to be inside you.’

Draco’s hole twitched around his fingers, and he almost sobbed, his shoulders pulled back, his head pressed to the pillow, probably to hide away what he could of his feelings. But his whole body was answering Harry loud and clear.

With slow movements and a control he didn’t knew he had, Harry eased his fingers out and _accioed_ the lube again from the floor. The taste of Draco still in his mouth, his fingers slick, his cock hard and Draco just there, wanting him so much that his mind seemed to be filled by a single word, _Harry_ \- it was all too much. Harry had to steady himself with a hand down on Draco’s back, as he coated his cock with lube. Draco wasn’t moving anymore, his thoughts jangled and messy, and he was panting, legs parted, hole fluttering, waiting, wanting...

Harry caressed his arse, trying to reel in his own arousal. He wanted to make this good for Draco and not come the second he was inside him, which seemed like the probable outcome at this point. He let his hands roam freely.

‘You’ve had so few people telling you how good you are, Draco… You are so beautiful, and strong, and amazing, and fuckable… and it’s why I fell for you, how could I not? I’m going to show you just how good you are to me.’

He watched in awe as Draco almost collapsed at his words. He whimpered, a word like _Harry_ coming out his mouth, his body twisting on the bed, his hands curling on the sheets. He looked out of his mind, his arse lifting off the bed. Harry grabbed his hips and kept his arse up.

‘Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of you calling my name like this?’ his voice shook. His cock was heavy on his hand as he guided it to Draco’s hole. He breathed deep, straining to keep the last inch of control he had.

‘Harry, Harry… oh please.’

Draco was babbling, his thoughts scattered and a pulsing desire burning everything else to the ground. He was giving himself over to Harry.

‘You’re my good boy, Draco. I’m going to fuck you so good. I’m going to give you everything you deserve.’

Another sob. Draco bucked back, almost impaling himself on his cock. Harry forced him still, his cock sliding between Draco’s thighs instead.

‘Please.’

‘You’re so pretty when you beg. You’re so pretty all the time, I can’t believe I get to have you like this,’ it was hard for him to speak, but still he kept at it, driven by Draco’s reactions. His body jerked under him, Draco’s hands tightened over the sheets, knuckles even more white and he threw his head back.

‘It’s for you… all for you… fuck me Harry. Please, I want your cock inside me.’

They both knew that it would be a matter of who was going to break first now. It wasn’t a battle Harry was intending on winning.

‘Keep asking for it,’ he said, amazed at his steady, teasing tone, because on the inside he was breaking already, his cock so hard, the tip pressed against Draco’s wet hole.

‘Fuck. Harry, oh please… please, please…’

‘What do you want?

‘Fill me with your cock, I want it, please.’

Harry couldn’t take it anymore. He pressed through, his cock sliding slowly into Draco, the rim stretching around him to accommodate and pull him in.

‘Oh god.’

It was the last thing he was able to say for a long time. Draco was open under him, his mind screaming for him to go deeper, and he did. He was drowning in Draco’s want, as his cock sank into the willing hole before him. His hand closed down around Draco’s hip and he pushed slowly in, finding almost no resistance. Draco wanted him, he was slick and wet, and worked open. It was so good, Harry could not stop. He was sliding in, one long continuous thrust, until he was completely sheathed inside Draco.

 _So good…_ _I knew it would be like this._  
  
_I knew you’d be like this._

Their thoughts clashed together, he did not even knew who was thinking what anymore. He waited a beat, fighting against the raging desire that was edging him to snap his hips forward and fuck Draco brutally into the mattress.

_Do it._

Draco’s voice inside his mind lurched him into motion. He gripped hard at the pale hips and pulled out a little, then pushed back in. Draco shouted something, but he couldn’t distinguish the words, only the want and need, his cock drowning into that searing heat, so tight. His hands pressed hard on Draco’s hips and then he was thrusting, deep and slow, and Draco was bucking back to take him in, his every movement and clench maddening. Then all his control was gone, his hips snapped forward and Draco was clenching around him, pulling him deeper. There was nothing else in the world.  

Draco was everything, under him, around him. He fucked Draco brutally, his hands clenched on those thin hips, marking them, his cock spearing Draco. Draco was shattering under him, his orgasm climbing up his spine like a violent wave Harry could feel under his fingertips and suddenly he was frantically searching for Harry’s hands, pulling one up.

‘Harry, I need, I want.’

He didn’t have to say anything else, Harry saw it. His hand around Draco’s throat, pressing, as he drilled inside him. Insane pleasure and pain. Draco wanted Harry to deprive him of oxygen and fuck him at the same time. Draco pulled Harry’s hand over his neck.

‘Like that time, at your door. But less fucked up. And for the right reasons. I want you to fuck me like this,’ Draco sounded rapt, his voice thick, trembling, his whole body shuddering.

_I don’t want to hurt you._

The thought came unwillingly, even as they both kept moving together. He fucked Draco with long, unsteady strokes. He felt heady, aroused, his heart tightening in his chest.

 _You won’t, I’ll warn you. I trust you. I want you to overpower me._ Draco pressed his hand over Harry’s, both on his throat. Harry managed to let out the breath he was holding. This was dangerous, probably the most dangerous thing he’d ever done while fucking someone, so his every movement had to be careful. He knew the lack of oxygen, controlled and temporary, could induce a heady sense of pleasure, close to orgasm. He’d seen it before in Draco’s eyes, that fateful night. But this wasn’t about that night. He’d had asked Draco for his jinxes, Draco was asking for this. This was the line they were threading, between pleasure and pain, consensually… lovingly. He brushed his fingers over Draco’s throat, listening to him breathe deeply, getting ready.

Harry lifted Draco up, still inside him, so that they were both kneeling on the bed, Draco’s back against his chest. The change in angle had Draco crying out, his hole gripping Harry’s cock in a vice, his mouth falling open.

Harry’s hand tightened around his throat, his fingers slowly pressing over the skin, and Draco gasped, his head falling back, his eyes wide and pleading.

_Is this what you wanted?_

_Oh fuck, yes, yes Harry, please. I’m yours. Please. Fuck me._

His fingers tightened around Draco’s neck, and Draco jerked in his arms, his hole clenching around Harry. He pulled almost all the way out and pushed back in, no rush in his movements, pleasure spearing through him in a slow crescendo. Draco could not speak, his sharp breaths getting weaker by the second, his cock jutting hard, his body trembling, on the verge of coming. Harry set them to a slower pace, his legs straining, his own orgasm kept at bay by sheer force of will. Draco was so fucking beautiful like this, his thin body taking Harry in, so open and willing, his hair plastered to his face, his mouth slack, his neck taut, his back arched and he was so, so close, even at this slow pace, his orgasm was unavoidable, a sure thing climbing up his spine, filling his every thought.

Harry eased the pressure of his fingers, but did not remove his hand. Draco wheezed, his harsh breath completely out of control, his body shaking. They were flushed together, and Draco reached behind and wrapped an arm around Harry’s neck, searching his lips, his desperate breaths so loud against Harry’s mouth.

Harry drowned in his taste, his cock going deep inside Draco, and time no longer had any meaning, narrowing down to Draco’s moans and shudders, the way his body gently collapsed. Harry thrust deeper, slower, drawing their orgasms from years of want. His pleasure was mounting, as sure as something inevitable, Draco clenching around him, pressing back, riding him. Harry still could not believe that he’d been allowed inside Draco. This tight warm body opening up for him, this brilliant mind welcoming him, every wall collapsed. The grey eyes were wet, Draco's neck a long line of want, taut and beautiful beneath his hand.

‘Come for me,’ Harry whispered and his fingers wrapped around Draco’s cock and pulled once.

 _Come inside me, Harry,_ was the last coherent thought from Draco and then he was coming. Draco’s whole body clamped around Harry and his cock pulsed in Harry’s hand, shooting warm ropes of come all over them, his pleasure like a blinding light on Harry’s mind. From that instant, Harry was lost. He was in so deep, and he never wanted to leave. He came with a renting yell that echoed inside Draco's mouth, his whole body tensing up and then coming undone, and there was nowhere else to go, he was warm, and wanted and buried inside Draco, so gone out of his mind. Draco was kissing him, murmuring words he’d never dreamed and he didn’t believe them, couldn’t, he was dreaming, Draco wanted him, Draco was staying. _Draco._

Then the whole world went up into flames.

 

***

‘It’s definitely a thing,’ Draco said, his voice a mere whisper against his mouth.

Harry did not know how many hours had gone by. How long they’d been at each other like the world was going to end. He just knew that the sun had set at some point, and none of them had cared.

Draco’s room was dark, just a thin stretch of moonlight coming from the space between the curtains on the window. The light played across the sheets and cast shadows on the walls. Harry was drifting off to sleep, dazed and sated. He felt infinite.

‘What is?’ he mumbled.

They breathed in each other’s scent. There was no rush. No place else they wanted to be.

‘Harry Potter porn,’ Draco murmured against his neck, a hint of a smile there.

A sudden laugh built up inside Harry just then, breaking years of weight against his chest, rippling free of him in a loud burst.

‘I’m so fucking in love with you,’ Harry said.

Draco’s sigh went through him, his fingers curling lightly around the nape of Harry’s neck. Draco didn’t reply. He just stood like that, breathing Harry’s words as he repeated them, for all the times he hadn’t said it, for all the times he’d let himself live a lie, for all the times he’d thought it, for all the times he’d known it to be true.

‘I’m so fucking in love with you. I love you, Draco.’

He spoke the words into Draco’s mouth, just a thread of sound being drunk down by Draco. He repeated them over and over again, until the words mingled in each other, until they sank in him, becoming part of him. Until Draco believed them.

After a long time, they both shifted on the bed, Harry turned on his side, feeling Draco’s hands settling on his hips. The last thing he heard before he fell asleep was his boyfriend’s drawling voice, coming muffled from behind him.

‘You said no more cliches.’

Harry felt Draco smile against his back, the curve of his lips on his skin, the press of his fingers against his chest, his arms wrapped around him.

‘This is just the beginning, didn’t you know?’ he asked, his fingers tangling with Draco’s, not even bothering with opening his eyes. He had all he could wish for right there.

‘I’m going to fill your life with cliches, Malfoy.’

Draco’s arms shuddered around him and he nuzzled Harry’s neck.

 _Prat_.

Harry let his head sink more into the pillow, inhaling the scent of apples and rain, Draco’s scent. One day he’d ask him what perfume he wore. Maybe he would tell Draco how much he loved it. He smiled as he fell asleep.

That night, he didn’t have any nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... how did I do?  
> I'm finishing the last two chapters, I can't believe Hurricane is almost over. Thank you for being there for the ride!


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned I'm a hopeless romantic? Well. There you have it. (On another note: did you think the smut was over? Think again.)
> 
> Hurricane is at an end! Next chapter is the epilogue and I'll be done with this emotional rollercoaster. Thank you all for reading and taking the time to tell me how much this story meant to you. I feel like I'm at a point of closure, somehow, since I've put so much of my own healing into this (basically, Draco is me, I'm his Hufflepuff version). 
> 
> Thanks so much to my beta Epoxide who has been so supportive all the time, incredibly patient and an amazing cheerleader along the 8 months I've been writing this. And thanks also to my friend Fayllin who encouraged me so much and has shared the love of all things drarry with me. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and being amazing!

_"Do you really want me?_  
_(I need a heart beat, a heart beat)"_  
  
**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds To Mars**  
  


Draco woke to a quiet room. Shadows played on the walls, over the covers. It wasn’t morning yet. He had completely lost track of time.

He turned slightly on the bed, and his eyes fell on the contours of a body next to his. Harry. For the first time he wasn’t waking up alone. Harry was asleep next to him, one arm around his waist, his legs tangled with Draco’s. He looked so peaceful, his face soft, lips parted, his dark eyelashes a contrast against his skin. For a long time, Draco watched him like this, unable to tear his eyes away, unable to get a grip on this feeling. The day before had been the best of his entire life. Actually, the worst, the most difficult and the best, all wrapped into one.

He slowly disentangled himself from Harry, careful to not wake him up. It was so rare for Harry to sleep like this, that Draco did not want to disturb him. His hand hovered for a moment over Harry’s face, fingers almost touching. They’d exhausted each other - seven years of hunger - and still Draco was aching for Harry, even if his body felt spent, sated and strangely warm. He drew his hand back, listening to Harry breathe and carefully lifted the coverlet to leave the bed.

He felt the need to be alone, just for a little while, alone enough to be able to collect his thoughts. He didn't bother with dressing. After all, his flat had central heating and the only person who could see him would be Harry - and that didn’t scare Draco anymore. All his scars were showing, including the faded Dark Mark, under the lines of the constellation - but he was at ease. At ease around Harry. His... _boyfriend_.

He walked to the living room, finding his way through the familiar darkness. His apartment was silent, and he loved it more like this - in the late hours of the night or early hours before dawn, when most of the city slept. It felt more like home now. Nothing at all had changed in it, but at the same time everything was different. _Harry was there._ Asleep in his bed. _Naked_ in his bed. His boyfriend was spending the night. Even inside his mind the whole idea felt foreign, but so, so good. _My boyfriend is staying the night._ He liked how that sounded. His flat was different because Harry was there, he was staying. And Draco did not know what morning would bring, only that Harry would wake in his bed. That maybe they would have breakfast, if one of them dared out of the bedroom to make it. He’d thought he wasn’t the type of person to have breakfast on the next day. Heck, he hadn’t been. By his rules, no one spent the night, nor did he, but now the most improbable person in the world was spending the night. And maybe more, who knew. He wanted more. More nights, more days.

Draco picked up Harry’s coat from the floor where it had landed in their frenzy before. He brought it to his nose, inhaling sharply, the material brushing against his skin. He had spent seven years around that scent, going crazy with it and now he felt like drowning in it and not coming up for a bite of fresh air ever again. He moved to the couch, clutching Harry’s coat and spotted his green sweater there, where Harry had left it. He picked it up, smoothing his hands over the beautiful fabric. It really was a perfect gift. He was glad no one could see him at that moment, holding these traces of Harry in his hands, the beginning of an unfamiliar smile showing up on his face.

There were traces of Harry everywhere on his flat, when before no one left anything behind. But Harry had always been the one to leave traces on him. The Sectumsempra scars were the more visible part of those traces, but they weren’t the only ones. Harry had saved him from that fire, when he’d had no reason to. Just one of the many inexplicable, unreasonable things he did, not because he was a hero, but because he was one of the best humans Draco had ever met. And that was, precisely, what made him a true hero. That act had created a bond of sorts between them. And a powerful one at that.

Then, it had been Harry’s word that had kept Draco out of Azkaban, giving him a chance of a life after the War, when he’d thought he had none. _Deserved none_. Harry’s testimony had also kept his parents out of that damned place - and no matter what Draco had kept saying to himself all these years, it mattered. His parents still mattered to him. But if these traces - this life altering traces - weren’t enough, there were others. Harry was, to this day, the only other person to have used Draco’s wand. Sometimes, when Draco picked it up, he could still sense it: a faint magical link to the other wizard. And it had never bothered him, not even before he knew he was in love. Harry had left traces of him everywhere in Draco’s life and they all led them here, to this moment.

Draco was still holding the sweater against his naked chest. He felt so suddenly small, like the world had changed overnight, without him noticing, and now he was facing a new world, one where he couldn’t and wouldn’t be the same as before, because he found himself changed overnight too. But he hadn’t been asleep during those changes, he hadn’t been a pawn in someone else’s plan. Everything was different because _he_ had made it so. He had come for Harry, he had fought for him, he had made a different turn, he’d taken a leap of faith and landed on his feet. And he was still terrified, but did not regret it in the least, even if he had no clue what morning would bring. Even if he didn’t know how they could be together after so many fucked-up years, even if he had no idea how to be in a healthy relationship with anyone, even if he didn’t even know how to love. He would have to find out.

Draco walked to the window. Outside, only a hint of the moon hanging in a black sky. A bright, hopeful sight. He looked down, his hand on the window-sill, his face pressed against the cold glass, his other hand still holding the sweater. He’d spent one of his darkest nights on this window. He had almost given up on himself there. Cutting short all possibilities, reducing them to only one, the only way out. It felt like it had been a long time ago, even though it wasn’t. He was so different from the hopeless person who had sat there, so convinced that life had already given him all the chances and he had blown them all up. He hadn’t realised, back then, that he had a say in all this, in his own life. He had a say in it, he could make his own path, and he did not need to be confined inside walls anymore. He could finally see the world post-Voldemort, the world Harry had made real, the world Harry had paid for with his own life. It was a world open to choices, filled with possibilities. A world where his life wasn’t decided and laid out for him beforehand. And he was only now fully acknowledging it.

It was so good that Draco could not hold it inside. He felt so utterly broken, like his skin would crack, like his heart could burst, leaving everything free to just pour out of him. Like nothing could be contained anymore. And through these cracks, these flaws, he was permeable. To the touch, to the light. _To Harry._ But also to everyone else. Other people who loved him and who Draco loved back. Without his armour, light and love could seep in - and out - through his pores, unawares. And nothing in his life had taught him to deal with something like this.

He had only known a love that hurt, that blamed, that binded. A love that demanded he’d be a different person from himself, a love that denied his deepest desires, or smothered him so much he couldn’t even find out what those might be. He knew his mother loved him, but for the longest time that love had come with the highest expectations, ones he could not and would not meet. His father had let love become duty, _an obligation_ , blurring the lines to the point of no recognition. No one in the Malfoy family knew a single thing about showing affection, so he didn’t know this kind of love he sensed in Harry. A love that freed him to be himself. A love that, once he was ready to acknowledge it, did not make demands he could not meet. A love that wanted him as he was, that did not press for more, that accepted noes, and don'ts, a love that did not push against him, did not suffocate him, a love that welcomed his light and his darkness, all of him.

It had never been like this. Everyone always wanted something from him, his parents, his random shags, everyone wanted a piece of Draco Malfoy, a piece he did not want to give. Harry wasn’t asking. He already saw Draco for whom he was. He saw the best in him. And the worst. And took it all. He was making Draco believe in a better side of himself, one he wasn’t still entirely sure was there, but was willing to find out. Nothing compared to this scary, hopeful feeling Harry was giving him, this sudden crazy idea that he didn't need to fight anymore, that he could just let himself feel and be. And he wanted the same for Harry. He wanted to watch that darkness in the green eyes recede. He wanted Harry to be happy, to share in his happiness, but he did not want to be the single source for it. Because he wanted to be free to do the same, to be free of charges, to be free to love Harry, no strings other than sharing happiness, for as long as it made sense to both of them.

He couldn't shake the feeling of inadequacy. He didn’t even know how to love properly, how to care so much about a person, but not lose yourself in it, not to forget yourself in it, but find yourself. To be so aware of who you are, that you are able to love deeply. He knew time did not heal everything, but it could ease some things. He was already proof of that. The rest… well. He had to start taking care of his mind as he would a broken leg. He had to. He owed that to himself. He’d get better, and he wasn’t alone. He had Luna, and his mother, and Harry’s friends. His friends, too, as Ginevra had said.

Draco let out the breath he had been holding, and realised his steps were taking him back to Harry, like they’d always done.

He was still asleep, his naked body sprawled on his sheets, exhausted and beautiful. Not perfect, just plain Harry. _So… this is love._

This was the Harry people never got to see. The parts of him that were out of the spotlight. The same man that fought Dark Wizards, still had nightmares, still had guilt, still felt insecure, still didn’t realise how beautiful he was. The same Wizard who was a powerful Auror, could as easily cry and laugh and give, never expecting anything in return. The same man that never knew love as a child, could love so deeply and unconditionally. Some knew him as the Master of Death, but for Draco he was more like a master of life and love, a master of simple things - like laughing for almost no reason, even if everything seemed too dark. And Draco had a feeling he had barely scratched the surface of who Harry Potter really was. That, even after years of getting to know him, there were still so many things about him he didn’t know. And he wanted to. He wanted to know this man, to dive into the mystery of this person and be changed by what he’d find.  

For the first time in his life he was choosing this. He would not run away anymore. Harry was redemption. Harry was happiness. Harry was a new life. And he’d chosen it. _Him_. He’d chosen Harry.

  
***

  
Harry opened his eyes. He turned around, and found the bed empty at his side. The sinking irrational certainty that Draco was gone, pressed over his chest. It felt only logical, and ironically fitting, that when he didn’t have any nightmares in his sleep, the nightmare would be the reality.

‘Draco?’ his voice came out sleep-drenched, anxious. He searched on the bedside table for his glasses, putting them on.

‘I’m here.’

Draco was standing by the doorframe, the light of the moon coming from the window and catching on his blond hair. It gave the disheveled strands an eery look. Soft. He was completely naked, his skin pale - otherwordly so - but still he was more real than anything. Harry took a deep breath, feeling the knot on his chest easing and being replaced with a thrumming beat.

‘I… I thought you had left,’ he admitted. Emotions were running high and raw on his skin. This wasn’t like him, but the day before had been… well, he couldn’t even put it into thoughts, let alone say it out loud. He suddenly felt cold and pulled the sheets closer to his chest, leaning on the pillows.

Draco walked over and sat on the bed, his hand coming to rest over Harry’s. Their fingers twined over the sheets and Harry pulled Draco closer, his need for feeling him surpassing the gnawing insecurity. Draco wrapped one arm around him, not even complaining when Harry laid his head on his shoulder, then lowered it to his chest and closed his eyes. He listened to the heartbeat there. Steady. Alive. He let his breathing synch to that soft beating.

Draco pushed the coverlet over the both of them. The gesture was unexpectedly warm, caring. There was a gentle touch on his hair, then Draco was caressing him, the tips of his fingers brushing slowly, lightly, through Harry’s hair, almost as if he was afraid Harry would notice it. And how could he not? Harry did not dare open his eyes. He felt like he could shatter this moment with just the blink of an eye. He wasn’t even breathing, too aware of Draco’s hand touching him like this - not sexually, just so exceptionally gentle. Harry had imagined what it would be like to be with Draco, but it all had been too vague. Still, he’d never imagined this. This was too good. _Impossible._

‘This can’t be real,’ he realised he’d said it out loud because Draco stopped caressing his hair and shifted, his hand on Harry’s face, cupping his jaw.

‘Harry, look at me.’

This was exactly what he’d been afraid of. The next day. Waking up. Looking into the grey eyes, wondering what he’d see there when the burning desire had been eased, when their mutual, desperate hunger had been slightly placated. He looked up and found Draco looking back. And there was nothing there for him to be afraid of.

‘I’m not leaving you,’ Draco was fighting the words out, Harry could tell. His voice shook, but he kept going, as thin, worried lines formed on the corner of his mouth. ‘I finally got you. I’m not letting go, unless you want me to.’

Harry nodded, unable to say anything in return, to find the exact words for the turmoil inside him. Truth was he was still afraid Draco would change his mind about them, still afraid he’d think better of it, of everything this new relationship implied. And what did it imply, really? He didn’t even _know_. They had to talk about it, about what they both wanted, about what they expected from this. Or maybe he was going about it the wrong way, thinking too much. Maybe Ginny had rubbed off on him with her talk of communication and feelings’ management. There were too many questions to be answered, but Harry did not want to go there just yet. The more pressing one was: what now? When broad daylight came, maybe in a few hours, would Draco still want to be his boyfriend? Draco was trying to tell him yes. Harry was a firm believer in changes. He knew people were capable of the most amazing things when someone believed in them and he believed in Draco. And trusted him.

‘You’re thinking too hard, and that’s never a good thing,’ Draco said, but he looked apprehensive and couldn’t hide it.

‘I know… I’m just… this is so weird, but good weird, you know?’ Draco nodded, mouth tight. He looked slightly scared and that was the last thing Harry wanted.

‘Are you alright?’ he asked.

Draco did not answer immediately. Harry lifted a hand to brush his face and Draco closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were a clear grey, like the sky on Harry’s favourite winter mornings.

‘More than… I just… I never woke up with anyone. It feels… different.’

Harry knew what he meant only too well. This was all very new to him. It had been years since he’d woken by anyone’s side, and he had never been exceptionally good at it. Hell, he knew nothing of healthy relationships. Though he couldn’t imagine it being any other way, not with Draco. He did not know what he would’ve done if Draco had wanted to leave after the night they’d had. But he supposed boyfriends didn’t leave like that. And that was what they were now.

‘Good different?’ he asked, unsure.

‘Yes.’

Harry brushed a thumb over Draco’s lips. He could clearly see that this wasn’t easy for Draco, all this honesty. He had a hard time putting _care_ into words, into truth. Perhaps it would never be easy, but Draco was willing to try. He wanted to.

Harry cupped Draco’s face in his hands. The skin was cold, but Draco leaned into his touch, seeking the warmth, his lips parting slightly. It felt like magic - just to be allowed to touch him.

‘I’m not used to this either… I never… that was why I thought you…’ Harry wished he was sounding more coherent, but his words were drifting together with his thoughts.

Draco simply nodded again, like he knew what Harry meant. The more Harry looked at Draco Malfoy, the more he got to see of him - and the more in love he felt. Maybe they just needed to be themselves and do this their way. He decided to leave the talk for another time and closed the distance between them, his lips brushing against Draco’s.

‘So... What do you reckon happens now?’ he asked, trying to lighten up the mood. Draco caught his lip with his teeth before answering, his hands skimming down his back, under the covers.

‘Well. I'm not a specialist myself, but I am a fast learner…’ Draco said, his hands on Harry’s lower back, soft, pressing. ‘I'd say... More sex when both parties are awake... Even if it's the unholy hours before dawn... And then more sex when the sun comes up, whenever that is.’

Harry was glad he wasn’t the only one to have lost track of time. He was also glad about the direction Draco’s hands were going. Very decisively for his arse.

‘Sounds like a plan to kill me,’ he grinned, then gasped when Draco’s hands cupped him, pushing them together.

‘Oh, you know how great I am with those… had a lot of time to plot.’

Draco was kneading his arse cheeks, the pressure of his hands so wonderful and teasing. Harry leaned to kiss him, their bodies becoming wrapped in each other, his hands climbing up Draco’s thighs, their mouths slow and warm. Draco kissed him like time didn’t matter, like they could be at it all night and he would never tire. Harry felt his body waking up under his mouth, exhaustion being drawn to the back of his mind, replaced by growing arousal.

‘And then what?’ he said, voice breathless.

Draco smirked and captured his lips, driving his tongue inside Harry’s mouth until they were both fighting for air.

‘Then I suppose breakfast would be in order, but...’ Draco said, breaking the kiss, his hands squeezing and kneading and generally making Harry have a hard time following the conversation. Which was bad, because Draco seemed about to say something important, his grey eyes serious, and Harry knew he should listen, he really should, but those hands were climbing up his sore back, and Draco was kissing his neck, and biting slowly...

‘But since it's Saturday and I’m planning on fucking you now, then again in the morning, then probably in the shower… I was thinking brunch. I'm taking you to my favourite later.’

He said it like it was nothing, naturally, like the both of them going out together, as a couple, was a normal thing. But they both knew it wasn’t. Harry’s mind cleared suddenly. Draco Malfoy was a man full of surprises. Apparently, he knew a thing or two about dating.

‘You are?’ Harry asked, quite in disbelief.

‘Yes,’ Draco said, looking very pleased with himself, his hands not leaving Harry’s arse. Harry could have been annoyed - at all this nonchalance, at the way those hands kept distracting him, - but he didn’t have it in him just then, not when he could feel Draco’s cock getting hard against his thigh.

‘You mean you’re taking me to a place with an actual cash register and people?’ he insisted, evading a kiss in the process, to be able to speak. ‘Out in public?’

Draco lifted a perfect eyebrow, the familiar trace of mocking showing up on his face.

‘Since I’m dating a _celebrity_ , I could make a special reservation for the whole restaurant. Then you could be out of the public eye and speculation, I’m sure they wouldn't say no to-’

‘You know that’s not what I mean. I’m not ashamed to be seen with you, if that’s what you’re going at. It’s quite the opposite. Stop being a prat.’

‘You love that in me, admit it.’

He did. He loved the way Draco was smiling right then, while his nails kept scraping down the curve of his arse, teasingly. Harry gasped, searching for the words he wanted to say.

‘Are you asking me out on a date? Like, for real? You are taking me out to brunch, and I’ll be allowed to hold your hand and kiss you?’

Draco smirked, but Harry knew him enough to notice the slight tinge on his cheeks, the way the smirk was changing into a bright, unabashed smile.

‘You know, I’d have to eat at some point. It’s what people do at brunch,’ Draco teased, but added in a lower tone, his mouth too close to Harry’s. ‘Yes, all that sappy nonsense, Potter,’ his nails brushed along Harry’s left thigh, a promise. ‘Someone has to take the first step and since you haven't yet-’

‘I’d wanted to, for ages! And you know it, you fucking prat.’

‘That’s not what you will be calling me in a minute…’

‘And what will that be?’

That hand on his thigh was very distracting. _Seriously_ distracting.

‘Something along the lines of a few hours ago… I think you called me God at some point.’

That fucking smirk would one day kill him, Harry was sure of it now. His heart was somersaulting inside him, those hands not leaving his back, his arse, his legs, going up and down ever so slowly. Draco Malfoy had such dangerous hands. Wonderful, knowing, willful hands that brought him pain and pleasure, maddening fingers that so expertly teased him to orgasm…

‘You sure have the ego to go with the title,’ he muttered, then panted as Draco kissed him hard, biting on his lips.

‘Good for you I also have a divine mouth.’

Well, after the night they’d had, he couldn’t very much disagree with that. Harry’s breath stuttered when Draco flipped them around and eased him back into the cushions, climbing over him, pressing Harry to the bed. If this was the new version of their bickering, Harry was all for it, especially if it earned him a naked Draco Malfoy on top of him, his cock hard and dragging between Harry’s thighs.

‘I like where your mind is going,’ Draco commented, and rocked his hips forward. Harry groaned, trying to free his hands to pull Draco closer, but Draco merely pined them tighter against the mattress. Then he went down, leisurely, trailing kisses down Harry’s chest, teeth scraping his nipples until they were hard and sensitive.

Harry arched up, Draco sucking on his nipples, until he felt out of his mind with it.

‘Kiss me,’ the words were barely out of his mouth and Draco was kissing them in, drinking them from Harry’s lips.

Harry let all his thoughts from before scatter, he had his whole life to think and talk. Right now he wanted the last hours of dawn in Draco’s arms, in Draco’s bed, with his scent all around him. The feeling of Draco’s sweaty body on his, warm. Draco’s hands finally everywhere, turning every stretch of his skin into erogenous zones, his arms, his ankles, his elbows, anywhere Draco’s mouth went turned to fire. He felt their magic twining, curling, rippling over his skin, spreading from every point of contact, bringing them closer, and he didn’t know it could be like this. It had never been like this with anyone else.

All traces of doubt were gone under Draco’s touch, the blond hair tickling his skin, as Draco trailed down, down, down, and then his mouth was kissing, licking, sucking on his thighs and Harry was screaming incoherently, open, drowning inside Draco’s desire, their thoughts clashing, words, needs, wants, hands, mouths, everything coalescing together. There was a low buzz in his ears, his legs were spread open, and Draco was there, between his parted thighs, his face nudged against the dark hairs, his tongue leaving no place untouched. Harry’s eyes shot open and found Draco looking up at him, his eyes saying that there wasn’t anywhere else in the world he’d rather be. And suddenly, Harry knew exactly what he wanted.

‘Fuck me,’ he whispered. Draco’s eyes were wide, like he’d never expected that. So Harry said it again, as explicitly as he could.

‘I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me now, just like this. You on top of me, slow, and hard. Splitting me open.’

The grey eyes had never looked like that. Bright, unruly, utterly in awe.

‘I’m still asleep, aren’t I? I must be dreaming,’ Draco whispered. He had stopped still, kneeling between Harry’s thighs. His hair a mess from having Harry’s hands on it, his lips wet and his chest heaving.

Harry lifted himself up, sitting on the bed, his legs around Draco still. He traced Draco’s chest with his palms, lightly, over the bandages.

‘Does this look like a dream to you?’ he hitched his hips up, his cock dragging against Draco’s stomach. He was so damned hard, and it was all just from what he was asking for, combined with the press of Draco’s body over his.

‘If it is, it’s a very vivid one,’ Draco said, voice rapt.

‘I’m real,’ he caught Draco’s hand and pressed it over his own cock. The long fingers curled around his length, and Harry fell back against the pillows, pulling Draco down with him. Their bodies were touching everywhere.

‘This is real. It’s what you do to me. Just you, on me. This is all it takes for my cock to be this hard. I want you this much, Draco. Can you feel it?’

Draco swallowed, his fingers twitched over his cock and Harry moaned at the touch, snapping his hips upwards. Harry was intensely aware of the silence in the room, only disturbed by their moans. Of the shadows playing across Draco’s skin, light and darkness playing a battle there. And he wanted it all, every trace of that skin he’d marred once, every bit of that man that had come back into his life like a hurricane. His hands wandered freely and he wasn’t thinking anymore, just feeling Draco, his every angle, his every turn, his moist lips, the slight sheen of sweat over his skin, the raw urgent desire on his hard cock, pressing between his thighs, brushing against his hole.

‘Fuck, Harry.’

‘Draco… fuck me on your bed,’ the words sounded loud in the room, all the more needy. All the more real. And the more he asked for it, the more he wanted it, so he kept asking. ‘I want you to have me. Fuck me into the mattress. I want to feel you tomorrow, Draco. Fuck me harder than you ever did.’

He realised he wasn’t even ashamed of what he was saying. He’d never been this explicit with anyone, never been this dirty, but Draco had seen the depths of it and he was still there. It made Harry want to throw all self-consciousness to the wind. He bracketed his legs around Draco and pulled him down into a kiss.

With his mouth he told Draco how much he wanted this. With his fingers, he eased the frown on the pale forehead, then with his lips he kissed away the rest of it. He kissed the tense lines on the corner of Draco’s mouth, then kept kissing him until he felt the worry easing away from his mind. His hands were digging into Draco’s shoulders, his hips lifting of the bed, as he angled himself for Draco’s cock.

‘Lube,’ he whispered, and Draco scrambled for the bottle they’d used before, searching for it on the bedside table, finding it with difficulty, Harry all the while wrapped around him, kissing every trace of skin he could get to.

‘Harry, Merlin, I need to prepare you,’ Draco said, voice strained by his own need. The effort he was making was clearly visible, his legs tense, his chest heaving.

But Harry shook his head, frantically, and tightened his legs around Draco. His hole brushed against the head of Draco’s cock.

‘Don’t finger me, just lube your cock. Spells, now. Draco. I want you, don’t wanna wait,’ his words were lost as Draco coaxed Harry’s lips open and drove his tongue inside his mouth, his body shaking.

_Are you sure?_

_Yes, yes, yes._

And then spells were spoken in a quick rush, a brush of fingers over his hole, magic thrumming on him so deliciously, making his skin prickle and burn and Harry let Draco lift his legs up, over his shoulders. In this position, Draco would be so deep inside him, just like he wanted. He willed his body to relax, to loosen, to allow invasion. Draco’s hand was fast over his own cock, getting it slick and ready, while the other hand was skimming over Harry’s leg, soothing, soft. Harry pulled him down again in a deep kiss, and there was a split second of hesitation before Draco plunged slowly inside him. Beyond the scorching burn, Harry felt splintered by the sheer intimacy of it all, scattered into a million pieces, infinite, but so strangely whole, as Draco kept going deeper inside him. He was wide open, his body taking the lead from his mind, letting go of every resistance, the tendrils of magic twining around them and then Draco was there, everywhere, over him, on him, inside him, their fingers entwined in a tight grip over the sheets. His mouth opened up for Draco, their bodies moving together to some rhythm they had found, and he didn’t know where he ended and Draco began. But then Draco moved, pounded into him, slow, persistent, perfect and Harry found the contours of his own body again, intensely conscious of his every nerve, and acutely aware of that point of connection, where Draco was driving inside him, gentle, but so unrelenting, of the way their bodies shifted to adjust, minutely.

It made them more than yesterday, made them different from now on, because now he knew how Draco looked when he was inside someone.

_Inside him._

He now knew how Draco cried out, how his body trembled and curled, how he seemed to forget all his composure, all the walls and the coldness, and all that was left was raw magic, scorching. He’d never forget the moment Draco’s cock breached him, the sheer intensity of feeling himself opening up around the wide girth, the feeling of being split open so gently, of Draco moving over him, like the waves, like fire, drinking down his moans, mouths searching each other, nervous laughs, groans and nails scratching. And Harry’s back was still hurting, and it was so worth it, so good every time Draco’s hands pressed over it, remembering the pain, as he was split open by pleasure, Draco’s cock driving into him, and his hands tangling on the blond hair, sweat trickling between them, Draco’s bandages on his chest, the scent of his hair, his tongue fucking his mouth, as Draco’s cock fucked his hole, and he was pressed under Draco, forgetting his name, and remembering it again when Draco whispered it against his ear, when he got close, so close to coming.

And he was floating, Draco moaning against his throat, his hips snapping harshly now, fucking him so hard that Harry felt drilled on the mattress, his thoughts drilled too, drifting into a million pieces as he screamed. _Draco_. He went over the edge, screaming the name he’d dreamt about for years, his come shooting warm between them, his cock untouched. There were fingers on his hair, gripping hard, as Draco pushed in, deep, and then stilled, his whole body seizing up, the long line of his neck throbbing and pulsing as he filled Harry. The world seemed to shift and right itself again around him.

He realised he was finally happy to be alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please share away your thoughts and feelings on this, as always I'll read them and reply to everyone. Your comments make all this even more emotional for me. 
> 
> The Epilogue is coming! Do you have any wishes for it? It's almost all written down but I would love to know what you'd like to happen still, before Hurricane is over. 
> 
> How am I gonna leave them after 8 months? ;_;


	29. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Once I had a dream. And this is it."  
> Here it is, the last chapter.

_"Heartbeat"_  
**Hurricane 2.0, 30 Seconds To Mars**  
  
  
They both left the Auror offices for the last time.

All their main cases were solved, reported on and filed properly, and the ones that weren't had been transferred to other teams. Ron and his Auror partner were glad to take on most of their pending cases. All paperwork had been signed and approved by the Ministry of Magic and the MACUSA, the extensive bureaucracy followed thoroughly - until Harry’s patience had worn thin. It had taken months, but finally the international elite team composed by Aurors Potter and Malfoy was, for all official purposes, dissolved.

‘Robards did not look very pleased, did he?’ Harry asked, but could not keep the grin from his face or the amusement from his voice.

‘No, he did not. Neither did my ex-boss at the MACUSA. Never seen her look quite so pale,’ Draco said at his side, his tone even. But for all his show of nonchalance, Harry did not need to look at Draco to know he was smiling.

‘Well, I don’t envy her. She’ll have to replace you. It’s hard to find another person with your... _specific_ skill set.’

Draco tried to stifle a snort at his implication. Harry had managed to say it in quite a dirty way, inspired by the still vivid memory of Draco’s _very_ skilled tongue around his cock, the night before. Thirty-bloody-minutes of teasing, sucking, licking and generally making him lose his mind. In short, it had been the most amazing blow job of his life thus far. Harry had clocked it, since they’d both bet the other one couldn’t do it. Draco had bet Harry would come within the ten minutes mark and Harry had bet Draco couldn’t keep his mouth working on his cock for half an hour - they’d both been thankfully wrong, even if Harry did not know how he’d managed to not black out from the mind-blowing, earth-shattering orgasm he’d had. And now that he thought of it, he also didn’t know what they’d betted on and he didn’t care in the slightest - losing felt too much like winning, after all. He was also pretty sure that it wouldn’t be their last bet that would end up with them fucking each other senseless.

Feeling more content than he’d been in ages, Harry kept looking ahead, hands inside his pockets, too aware of Draco’s arm brushing against his as they walked down the street.

‘Talking about specific skills… You should tell that to Robards. It’s going to take a miracle for him to find a replacement for the Holy Saviour, vanquisher of Dark Lords and Auror-extraordinaire...’

Harry laughed. Draco was going for his usual mocking tone, but Harry now knew enough to recognize the hint of pride and truthfulness under it.

‘Well, _I_ wasn’t talking about your _work_ skills, and you know it. Why are you being so proper all of a sudden?’

Draco shot him a look. He had the hint of a smirk on his lips.

‘ _I am proper_ , Potter,’ Draco leant closer and his next words huffed over Harry’s ear. ‘For instance… I intend to _properly_ eat your arse later.’

Even in the middle of the fucking street, Harry could not keep from reacting to it. His whole body shivered involuntarily. He glanced at Draco, who kept walking like he’d only just commented on the weather.

‘That’s good,’ Harry said, feeling his throat suddenly dry. He wondered if Draco would always have this effect on him or if he was just too in love to be immune to it. ‘I like that. I like you.’

‘I know,’ Draco smirked at him in that annoyingly sexy way of his. His cool grey eyes were bright and clear. The now all-too-familiar fuzzy feeling he got when he looked at his boyfriend settled inside Harry.

One thing was for sure: Draco had been serious about topping his own performances, which he kept doing every time. Not that Harry complained, no. He’d nothing to complain about. Not about that night, or the one before it, or even the whole weekend before it (in which Draco hadn’t worn any clothes for two days, 48 beautiful hours that Harry would _so_ store in a Pensieve, if he had one). In fact, Harry had been having a perfect week. A great month. A great couple of months, heading for a year. He’d never felt more himself - especially since he’d decided to leave the Magical Law Enforcement for good.

‘Well, it wasn’t as if we didn’t warn them months ago,’ Harry added.

The more he talked about it, the more real it felt. It felt like a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He was no longer an Auror.

‘Government officials do tend to keep to their denials. You should know - seeing as they spent a whole year calling you a liar. And also, Americans don’t like to feel out of the loop.’

They kept walking away from the Ministry building, none of them looking back. Harry had a feeling they wouldn’t be missing any of it - the long hours, the constant travels, the endless reports, the stakeouts, the life-threatening danger of the job, the boring functions, the empty speeches. No, he surely wouldn’t be missing a thing. Not even the adrenaline. The only thing he could ever miss was working with Draco. But he now knew that what he craved was the connection, the bond, the way they were with each other. And that, _that_ he didn’t have to miss.

His Mind Healer had been completely supportive of his decision to leave. For a long while, Harry had known this job had been just another way for him to keep going down that familiar road, the one he was convinced was the only possible for him, the same that had been slowly killing him, bringing him to a point of exertion and exhaustion. He’d made the decision alone, reflecting about it in the therapy sessions he was having once a week. When he told Draco, he wasn’t surprised to find that Draco had made the same decision for himself. They’d agreed on the terms together with Robards. First, their boss had thought they’d just wanted to change, maybe travel less abroad, or take in more local cases. Robards was willing to accommodate that, if it meant not losing his best team of Aurors. But he soon realised that wasn’t what they wanted.

They crossed the street on their way to the pub. It was the usual gathering with the rest of the group. Ginny was back in London, in between seasons, and even Neville had managed to get out of Hogwarts for a pint. Hermione, Ron and Luna were coming too. Harry was supposed to give Neville his final answer today. The invitation had surprised him, even if Draco had just lifted a perfect eyebrow at him, followed by a pointed look that reminded Harry, worryingly, of Hermione. Clearly, the two of them were spending way too much time in each others’ company.  

‘Seriously, your curriculum is probably the best that school has seen for that position in a decade,’ Draco had said. ‘May I remind you the array of incompetent teachers we had in Defence? And Longbottom told me it hasn’t exactly improved since.’

Well, Harry had to agree with him for the most part. Remus Lupin had probably been the only good Defence teacher they’d had. Even Draco had recognized that, even if at the time his judgement had been hampered by his childhood prejudices. Still, Harry wasn’t sure he was the right person for the job, not that he would ever dare to criticize a decision from Headmistress McGonagall, even out of her earshot. Not even _he_ was _that_ rash, no matter what people thought of him.  

It all had started a few weeks before, when Neville had sat down with Harry over a pint, looking like a man on a mission.

‘So... New term is starting and we're out of a Defense teacher…’

Harry had taken a long gulp on his beer, knowing perfectly well where the conversation was going. Every year, Neville tried this approach with him - prompted to do so by McGonagall, of course - and Harry’s answer had always been a polite ‘no, thank you’. He’d been a full-fledged Auror, and a busy and international one at that. And there was also the issue with Draco, pending on his decisions. He hadn’t wanted to leave, because that meant losing whatever he’d had with Draco. But now, his life couldn’t be more different than before. All circumstances had changed. But one hadn’t: Harry still wanted to do something in his life to help others. He wanted a job that made him feel fulfilled, without draining him. Because yes, he was now very aware of the dangers of wanting to save everyone.

So he had taken a long look at Neville, who watched him expectantly.

‘Do I even want to know what happened to the last one?’

‘Trust me, you don’t.’

‘Seems like the position is still jinxed, then.’

‘Who better to unjinx it than Harry Potter himself?’ Neville asked with a grin and lifted his pint at Harry.

They both laughed. Harry sometimes thought people gave him way too much credit. He supposed that was something for him to discuss with his Mind Healer - she’d probably make him realise that all that nonsense was just his low self-esteem making another appearance. McGonagall had told Neville this was her last offer. The Headmistress wasn’t exactly known for her patience and she’d been making the offer for years now. Harry actually even missed her reproachful looks. He wondered how many of those he’d been getting on a daily basis if he said yes.

He’d promised Neville he would think about it. And think about it he did. But not for long, because he had been barely out of the pub and on the way home, when he realised he already knew the answer.

He wasn't a fool, he knew he’d end up bored if he wasn't working with magic for a long time. And this was exactly the type of magic he’d always loved. The new term would be starting in just a few months and he was nervous. Could he really teach? He’d had that experience with Dumbledore’s Army. It had gone well enough. Well, he’d have to find out. He didn’t have to be fighting and on the field, but he could be helping others who wanted to follow that path. He could try, maybe a year and then…

‘You’re gonna be the best thing that happens to those students.’

That was what Draco had said later, when they’d been discussing the issue over a bottle of wine. Merlin, he’d never known Draco could smile like that - bright, fond, _proud_ \- and it was the most beautiful thing in the world. It had eased a bit of the knot inside him. And helped Harry decide. He was saying yes tonight.

He hoped they could all celebrate the news together over a pint. Or two. Maybe several. Then he hoped he could celebrate it in private. With Draco eating his arse, as he’d promised. And then with Harry down on his knees, between Draco’s thighs. He quite missed that and intended to show Draco just how much.

The previous year had gone in a blink. For the first time in his life he was asking himself what he really wanted, and the answer was he wanted the simple things. The small things.

Waking up in the morning to find Draco sleeping by his side, his hair in a state of disarray that Draco would never allow anyone else to see. Lying still, watching the soft light coming from the window, catching on Draco’s hair and skin, lingering there for a moment, warm. Thinking how Draco deserved that warmth, that it was so long overdue.  

Sitting with Hermione at a Muggle cafe and hearing her telling him about her job promotion at the Ministry, how she was already changing the world with her brilliance.

Hugging Ron so hard, when he told him he was going to be a dad, smiling so much for days on end, laughing even more at his every joke, because he was insanely happy for him and Hermione.

Meeting Ginny for dancing and drinks and spending hours hearing about her intensely beautiful and diverse love life, learning with her experiences how to better communicate his feelings and then trying that on Draco every night, telling him everything he’d never dared before, his fears, his insecurities, but also how just one of Draco’s smiles made his whole day better and watch his boyfriend’s face go slightly pink and then change more and more into that slow smile Draco reserved only for him.

Dancing at the club until 3 am, Draco pressed against him, no walls, just happiness and hands all over, hearing Draco laugh and lean in closer to tell him insanely hot stuff - no drinks needed for it - while Ginny, Luna and Neville taught everyone that three people dancing together was not only possible, but amazing.

Kissing Draco everywhere: on the dance floor, on the street, at the Burrow, while shopping for groceries, not caring what anyone might think. Finding out that Draco, no matter all his talk of proper things, was actually a very affectionate boyfriend in public and once comfortable enough around Harry, he’d even hold hands as they walked places. Harry realised Draco was unabashedly out as a gay man, that he refused to give in to prejudices or pressure and that he always made a point of holding Harry’s hand - even if people were commenting or staring. Something Harry had never imagined he’d do. Something that made him fall in love everyday, even harder.

He also hadn’t imagined that Draco would be the type of person to go to a Pride Parade, but he found out he was wrong. Draco was lying at his side, naked, and had turned to Harry: “The Pride Parade is coming. Luna always goes, with Ginevra and Longbottom. Hermione is going too, with Weasley, they’re all going. I was thinking… would you like to go with me?” The way he’d said it, slightly unsure, but still so determined, had made Harry have one more of those moments where he simply thought: I love you. Of course he’d said yes, at once.

Harry was sure he would be very old one day and still remember his boyfriend, dressed in all-black Muggle informal clothes, holding up a rainbow flag together with a very brightly-coloured dressed Luna. He’d remember Draco’s tentative smiles, the way he’d kept one of his arms around Harry at all times, the way they’d kissed long and slow, to the sound of music and cheers. Of course the kiss had made the Prophet’s cover on the next day, but Harry did not even care. The reporters had been having several field days (more like months) since it came out that they were together. But for the first time in his life, Harry didn’t feel bothered by it, because now he had Draco, and Draco always had the best biting remarks to throw at the reporters’ faces, leaving them bereft and unable to know if he was telling the truth or downright playing them and the news to their favour. Between Draco’s and Hermione’s strategic thinking, all damage control was done and Harry did not have to care one bit.

For months, Draco had been talking about this idea of opening a bookshop, specialized in alchemy but with a Muggle front. His many long talks with Hermione had turned the idea - at first, more dream-like, abstract and intended for some unforeseeable future - to a concrete business plan with budgets, charts and deadlines, ready to be put into practice. Draco was also having therapy sessions, and it was starting to make a difference. Harry watched him grow slowly more comfortable with himself, the self-hatred easing into self-reflection. Draco had the money to invest and in a short period of time he had all the paperwork in order, had bought a place for the bookshop in London, and decided to invite Hermione to be his business partner. Of course she’d been positively beyond herself with the idea. Harry did not know how she’d manage her work at the Ministry and this, but he knew better than to doubt Hermione’s power of ubiquity when she set her mind to something. Specially if it involved books. On the other hand, he could now easily find his boyfriend’s nose inside a thick volume, more often than not, curled up on their couch in the living room at Grimmauld Place. A few months before, all that reading into late night hours had taken a toll. Draco had started wearing glasses: a pair of thin, very stylish and expensive Cartiers. If anything, he looked even sexier now.

Harry didn’t know when they’d decided to live together, it just sort of happened without any conscious decision on their part. Somehow they ended up together in Grimmauld Place, even if that was far from being ideal. Harry knew the house needed work to look more like a home. Before, it had only been a place to crash at night, with all the travelling and the long shifts at work. He didn’t really spend enough time there to make it his own. Even so, Draco said he liked it better than his own impersonal apartment. He’d rented his place and moved in, his clothes now taking most of the space in their closet and drawers. When Harry accepted the Hogwarts position, he would have his own quarters there, which put Grimmauld Place on hold for a while longer. And that reminded him of his only condition to accept the job: that Draco could come and live with him at Hogwarts. They’d talked about it and Draco prefered to Apparate to London to be at his shop and come back everyday to Hogwarts. He’d use the Apparition point at Hogsmeade. Life really was a strange thing, because in a few months they’d be back at the place where they’d been enemies, then strangers. And now they’d be coming back as lovers, _partners_. Harry knew the place would bring up some difficult memories, but he was counting on therapy to deal with them, and also on the brand new memories he could make there. He’d be starting a new life, a new job, and he’d get to have his boyfriend at his side.

They were almost at the pub, having walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence, but there was something else Harry wanted to do before they were surrounded by noise and all their friends. He stopped on his tracks and grabbed Draco’s waist.

‘Have I kissed you today?’ Harry asked.

He watched as Draco tried very hard to hide a smile.  

‘Hum, just once when we woke up. And then in the shower… but not on the mouth, if I remember correctly,’ Draco said, a mischief look in his eye.

‘Clearly not enough,’ Harry pulled him closer.

Draco leaned immediately against his touch and Harry kissed him. Right there, in the middle of the street. Their kisses had been brilliant before, but they were even better now that they both knew what made them tick. He knew Draco loved it when he grabbed his hair while kissing, or brushed his hand against the nape of his neck, which he was doing just now. They both liked to bite on lips and tongues, even when they kissed sweet and slow. Like now. He bit down on Draco’s lip, then licked slowly over it. He loved the little sounds Draco made inside his mouth, the way his hand closed tightly on whatever clothes Harry might be wearing at the moment, the fact that Draco’s body always surrendered so suddenly and completely to Harry’s, the way the whole world seemed to step back a bit to let them have this. To let him taste Draco, knowing now he could do it anytime he wanted.  

‘You’re such a sap,’ Draco mumbled against his mouth when they finally parted, but he was dazed from the kiss, his eyes glazed over, a smile on his lips.

‘You love it. You love me,’ Harry whispered, because he knew it was the truth.

Draco looked at him, his hands dropping to Harry’s waist. Everything just fell into place when he did that. Harry sighed, his heart seeming to expand inside him, accommodating a whirlwind of emotion he’d have a hard time putting into words. That was why he tried to put them into kisses. He let himself himself feel Draco tugging him close, one of his hands coming up to rest on Harry’s face. People were walking past them. Some of them were looking, whispering. Draco was ignoring them blatantly, as he leant in and brushed his lips against Harry’s. Two men kissing on the street, holding hands, hugging, showing affection for each other - it was still a much-needed political statement, both in the Wizarding and Muggle world alike, and Harry felt proud to be doing it all with Draco.

They finally broke the kiss and Draco remained silent, though his eyes spoke volumes. Harry knew Draco was still a man of a few words. But the ones he did say, were always the right ones. They stood like that for a long time, then Draco’s lips brushed against his cheek and his hand squeezed Harry’s. Draco glanced at the pub, where Neville and the others would probably be already waiting to hear the news, then he looked back at Harry. His smile was all kinds of breathtaking and it made Harry’s heart ache.

‘Scared, Potter?’

Harry burst out laughing. The words echoed around them, almost like they were coming from another life altogether. He grinned at Draco.

‘You wish,’ he answered.

Yes, he was downright scared. He was scared out of his mind. Loving someone was a scary thing, but so were many of the things in life that were worth it. Like changing jobs, like choosing another path in life, so different from the one you took before; like learning to take care of himself, like talking feelings, like accepting help, like moving in together. Like getting down on one knee and propose to Draco Lucius Malfoy...

But he was probably getting ahead of himself on that one. The idea was just simply stuck stubbornly inside his head. For two months now. And it wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how hard he tried.

The problem was that even Hermione thought it was a wonderful idea, and that didn’t help. He’d hoped her political stance to only marry Ron when marriage equality was a right for everyone, would make her keen to dissuade him from the idea. And if that didn’t work, he’d hoped her good reasoning would make her tell him to wait a little while longer, to not rush head on into things like he usually did, to give it time.

But she’d done no such thing.

Instead she’d been ecstatic, beyond herself, she’d said “oh, Harry, that makes total sense” and squeezed him hard, tears glistening in her eyes and then launched herself on a hyped speech, urging him to think along with her: how amazing it would be if Harry Potter got married to a man, and an ex-Death-Eater at that, how it would send a strong political message to the whole post-War Wizarding World. How it would have a huge impact on young wizards’ and witches’ lives, and would draw attention to the lack of wizarding legislation regarding the rights of sexual minorities. Then she went on a full-fledged manifesto about the need for visibility, for bringing up these issues to the public eye, that if Harry did this, she could even draw on that to push further legislation towards equal rights for everyone (House-elves included). It was this last idea - the thought of what the reporters would do when they got word and the huge exposition that would imply - that had almost worked to discourage him. He must have looked quite panicked at that point, because then Hermione had stopped, hugged him again and said that what she really wanted was to see him happy, political stances aside. That Draco was Harry’s family and if he wanted for all the world to see it and make it official, that was one of the ways he could do it. And that suddenly seemed to Harry worth every public exposition. He wanted everyone to know he loved Draco Malfoy, that he wanted to share his life with him. Yes, someone should probably dissuade him from being such a Gryffindor, but now it was probably too late.

‘I've lost all hope you grow out of your Gryffindor ways,’ Draco said nonchalantly.

 _Crap._ He should have seen this coming.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Harry said, averting his eyes from Draco, and motioning towards the door to the pub.

But Draco wasn’t going to let this go that easily.

‘You suck at lying. You do realise you were thinking way too loud, don't you?’

‘What _I_ _do_ think is that all this mind reading is wasted when we're both dressed, Draco,’ he had enough proof of its usefulness in their sex life, but he had a feeling he needed to catch up again on his Occlumency if he was to survive daily life around Draco.

‘Well. What does it look like?’

‘What?’

‘Don’t what me, Potter. The ring. The ring you bought for me two weeks ago.’

‘You’re delusional if you think I'm going to tell you. Or think it around you.’

‘You should appreciate the effort I made to not go and find it where you’ve hidden it, because I’ve known all along where it is. And I know where it is just now,’ Draco looked pointedly at Harry.

Harry felt his face burn up. He was out of words for the time being.

‘Did Luna help you choose it?’ Draco pressed. His eyes were bright and intent on Harry, like they could read into him everything they needed. ‘Or Mother?’

Harry said nothing. He cursed himself for being this obvious.

‘She did,’ Draco said, answering his own question with a smile. ‘Oh, she did. That was what you two were talking about so secretly the other day, wasn’t it?’

His smile was pure happiness now, and Harry forgot to be mad at himself. He grinned, then leant closer to Draco to give him a small peck on the lips.

‘I am not telling you, Malfoy.’

He turned away and made to open the door to the pub, but Draco was still talking.

‘Well, these past eight years I've perfected the _skill_ of being patient, so… Really, take your time. All the time you need. I’m not going anywhere, so… anytime, really. You made a patient man out of me.’

He turned back to watch Draco leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking like he meant to stay there for as long as it took to make his point - whatever that point might be. It almost made Harry reconsider the crazy, positively insane idea of wanting to spend the rest of his life around the Slytherin git. Almost. Well, not really.

Harry laughed, then sighed. There was nothing else he could say. He didn’t stand a chance, not when Draco was like this, all-Slytherin-like. So he came up to Draco and leaned on the wall too, thinking of all the times they’d done this before. But everything was quite different now. Draco had stopped smoking months ago, so he just stood there, smirk in place, a hand on his pocket. The same hand Harry took in his own, tracing the pattern of his long fingers, thinking how the engagement ring inside his pocket would look on Draco’s finger. It was a simple silver band, traced with a thin line of gold. It would look gorgeous on Draco’s long, beautiful hands.

They stood there in silence, none of them making a move towards the pub’s door. At least for one whole minute, until Draco’s patience was done for.

‘Anyway, in case you’re interested, the answer would be yes. Just so you know.’

Harry’s heart stuttered, felt dislodged from its proper place. Draco was smiling at him in a challenge. _Are you gonna do it, Potter, or what?_ The smile spread from his lips to his eyes, then to his whole face. And, for all the challenge in his thoughts, Draco looked fragile and beautiful and slightly scared, and there were thin lines forming around his mouth. Harry loved every one of those lines. He had no doubt he wanted to see that smile for as long as he could. For as long Draco would have him.

Yes, Harry was scared, he’d be mad not to be. But that had never stopped him before and, now that he had another good thing to live for, it most certainly wouldn’t.

He wanted to do it right, he wanted it to be special, he’d thought of a thousand ways to propose and make it memorable. They were in the middle of the street. They’d just quit their jobs and life was beginning anew. He hadn’t planned to do it now, but he wasn’t a Gryffindor for nothing, was he?

He didn’t care about the forever, only about the _now_. And right now he knew who he wanted. This was _it_.

Harry stepped away from the wall and took out the little box from his inside pocket.

Then, he went down on one knee, heart on his throat.

But before he could say anything, there was an explosion of voices from the door. Harry vaguely recognized Hermione’s high-pitched scream of happiness, then a cacophony of voices - Ginny, Neville, Luna - a distinct “bloody hell” from Ron, then a lot of hooting and cheers.

He couldn’t hear anything at all. Not even when the crowd got wider and wider, and there were flashes coming out of nowhere.

He only saw Draco, standing there, breathless, more beautiful than ever, and the look on his face was worth a lifetime of waiting.

And Harry did not have to wait any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe Hurricane is over. I started writing in February, I'd never written fanfic in my life, and here I am finishing it up in October, 8 months later. This is the first long story I finished - the first that is both book-length and complete!!! It's also the story that got me out of a seven year long writer's block. I feel so proud for having finished this, so happy that I could share it with you. Thank you so much for reading these thousands of words I wrote. Thank you so much for leaving me your thoughts and feelings on what you've read. Your comments were the most amazing thing, I felt that you were on this journey with me, that I wasn't alone in writing, in going through months of this - writing, having therapy, moving out, ending relationships, healing, finding myself. It all wraps into one - and into this story. I'm glad I got to share it like this with you. Thank you all for your cheering, your kind words and your time. 
> 
> Thank you ever so much to my dear beta Epoxide, who was patient, thorough and an amazing friend all through this. Thank you for being so kind and supporting me during all these months, for listening to my ramblings and doubts and thoughts, for brainstorming with me and generally for being there. 
> 
> I'm sad and happy this is over.  
> I do hope you like the ending.  
> Here's to love and healing. And of course, drarry <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Breathe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11185254) by [Epoxide (MiyuTanemura)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiyuTanemura/pseuds/Epoxide)




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